Nobody's Last Resort
by moricakes
Summary: "Do you think that people like me deserve a second chance?" She considered him for a moment before responding. "I believe that everyone deserves a second chance." It startled Hermione so much, seeing the boy's lips stretch across his perfect teeth in a truly genuine smile. It made him look so different, so innocent and sweet. Credit to Starkidsftw for title and plot setting
1. Nobody's Last Resort

**I managed to grab a copy of Starkid's oneshot "Nobody's Last Resort" in order to save everyone from going through the effort of searching through the archives but I seriously do recommend going on her page and reading "Fates Has It's Ways" as it is amazing. The primary reason that I'm using Starkid's fic as the plot setter is because I had a plot bunny that wouldn't go away and I wholly disagree with plagiarism, so it is with her assistance and permission that I am able to do this**.

The Yule Ball was going along nicely for the majority of Hogwarts, Durmstrang and Beauxbatons. The hall looked simply splendid, the food was delicious, and everyone looked beautiful. The hall was rather serene as everyone danced with their dates. Everyone except a small group sitting at the back of the hall. They were arguing.

"You're fraternizing with the enemy!" Ron Weasley bellowed in Hermione Granger's face. His face was bright red.

"How dare you!" Hermione yelled back, her face equally angry. "This tournament is about international magical cooperation! Making friends!"

With a flourish, determined to finally have the last word in one of their arguments, she turned on her heel and stormed across the dance floor. Making her way to the door, she turned around quickly and shot one last look at where she had just left Ron. The sorry ginger was now staring wistfully at the dancing form of Fleur Delacour at short distance away. Rage temporarily blocked her vision. How dare he say such hurtful things, then not care twenty seconds later.

She burst out into the entrance hall, searching for an escape. Taking several calming breaths didn't seem to suffice. She wasn't free. Suddenly, the entire castle felt claustrophobic. She rushed to the front doors, trying not to trip in her heels, and out into the evening air.

The Christmas night was calm and cool, chilling her slightly in her silk dress. She walked out to the center of the courtyard, treading softly on the snow covered cobblestones. Several snowflakes fell slowly through the air, landing on her nose. She took a glance back at the castle doors. She could hear the music ringing softly from the hall.

A tear slid down her cheek, freezing in the winter air. Hermione choked back a sob, determined to not let it go. She rubbed her arms, attempting to warm herself up from the cold air. It felt like knives on her skin. She let her arms fall, giving up. It took all of her effort not to fall to the ground.

This was her night, her moment. This was her chance to finally not care about classes, or SPEW, or evil plots or even her two best-friends. This was her chance to just be a normal teenage girl, at a dance with the boy she liked. She had dressed up, used make-up, and even styled her hair for the occasion. She had walked into the hall feeling like a princess, and walked out feeling like a peasant, worthless of any attention, which she knew she had been acquiring.

How dare Ronald yell at her for being at the ball with Victor Krum. How was it any of his business who she went on a date with? How was he allowed to scream at her for "fraternizing with the enemy", when he himself asked Fleur Delacour, another champion in the tournament. He had ruined her night, just through his words. How could someone claiming to be her best friend tear her down and accuse her of such hurtful things? And how could Harry not stick up for her? She had stood by his side while everyone, including Ron, had left him in the dust. She couldn't believe these two were her best friends.

Hermione wiped another tear from her face. Taking a few deep breaths, she tried to calm herself down. She wasn't able to. She couldn't go back in there and face everyone like this, least of whom Krum, who she really liked. Damn Ron! He was always like this, tearing her down when she felt like soaring. How was he her best friend?

"Granger?" called a voice from the darkness. Hermione turned around and let out a groan.

Walking down the steps, having just exited the entrance hall, was Draco Malfoy. His white-blond hair gleamed in the darkness. He was wearing dark dress robes, which billowed around him as he made his way to where she was standing. Hermione groaned once more. She felt vulnerable right now, and Malfoy was always the one to kick her while she's down.

"What Malfoy?" she snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. Her voice cracked slightly.

The Slytherin prince looked her over, his eyes crossing over every inch of her body. Usually, Hermione would've been slapping him across the face by now. However, something stopped her.

Malfoy eyes were different. The deep silver orbs, usually so hard and cold, were different. Hermione couldn't understand the emotion brewing within them. All she knew was this emotion wasn't hate.

"Granger…" he said, his voice soft. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fantastic, Malfoy," she said, hoping to pour a bucket of sarcasm over his head.

"No you're not," he said, frowning. "I saw you run out of the hall. What happened?"

Hermione smirked. "Because I'm sure you care Malfoy." With this a few more sobs got caught in her throat.

"Hermione…" he said. A burst of shock went through her. Malfoy never called her by name. It was always Granger, of mud-blood or some other demeaning name. Hearing her real name, Hermione, on his lips felt different.

"What Malfoy?" Hermione asked, exasperated. Whether or not he used her name, she still didn't want to deal with him right now.

The pure-blooded prince took several steps forward, until he was standing right in front of her. Hermione felt more tears fall and freeze on her face. She blinked them back and stared at the ground. She couldn't look him in the face right now. Draco reached over and put his hand under her chin. He lifted her head up, making her meet his eyes.

"What happened?" he asked softly. His eyes were so deep. She felt as though she could fall into them. Those deep silver orbs seemed to pull the answer right from her lips.

"Ron and I had a fight," she said effortlessly. His eyes held so much emotion.

"What about?"

"Krum," she replied, her voice low.

Draco looked thoughtful for a moment, gazing over her shoulder. When his eyes met hers once more, he was smirking.

"Weaselbee wasn't too fond of you going with the Bulgarian, huh?"

Hermione shook her head. A few loose curls fell from her bun.

"You do know the Weasel is just jealous right?" Malfoy asked, still smirking.

Hermione started. The words bounced around her cranium several times before she understood them. What? Ron? Ron was….jealous?

It was as if someone lit a light bulb in Hermione's brain. Suddenly, everything made sense. It was as if she had suddenly understood a difficult concept in transfiguration. After endless studying and trying, and annoyance when she couldn't find the answer, everything, in just a second, became clear.

Ron liked her. That explained everything. Why he was so angry with her, why he had been bugging her about who she was going to the dance with, why he was so protective of her, it was his inability to express his feelings. Suddenly, Hermione felt white hot rage go through her.

"HOW DARE HE?" she screeched. "How dare he make my evening terrible because of his own pettiness and jealousy? He had the opportunity to ask me, and he didn't! Now, I was having a great time with my date, and he had to go and ruin it. That son of a banshee!" With this, she burst into tears once more.

Malfoy looked highly amused through her rant. However, once she started crying, he was immediately concerned.

"Granger?" he asked hesitantly. "I know Weaselbee is moronic, but why are you so upset? No one would waste that emotion on the ginger. If they did, my faith in humanity is gone."

Hermione sniffed and wiped tears from her face. "Why do you even care, Malfoy?"

Malfoy held her gaze steadily. He repeated, "why are you so upset?"

Throwing her head down in defeat, she answered. "Because tonight was my one chance." She barely whispered the words.

"Sorry?" He asked. It was so strange hearing no malice in his voice.

"It was my one chance," Hermione said clearly, lifting her head to look him in the eye.

"One chance for what?" he asked, confused.

"To be someone else. To be something other than Hermione Granger, nerdy little goody-two shoes, best friend to Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley. To not be the bookworm, or the one who's homework you steal. I wanted to be someone else tonight, no longer a last resort for everyone. Someone who you thought was beautiful; someone you wished you could be with. I wanted to dance with the boy I liked, and have his eyes just brighten when he looked at me. I wanted a night without any evil schemes, or fights, or homework, or even books. I just wanted to be someone else. Just for one night."

Throughout her monologue, tears flowed freely down her face. Damn Ronald for ruining this for her. It's all she wanted, and of course he had to make the entire night about him as per usual. She liked Krum and he liked her, why couldn't her best friend just let her be happy? Isn't that what you wanted for the girl you liked? Happiness?

Malfoy glanced her over, reaching her eyes once more. Hermione became wary. There was a new emotion in his grey orbs she had never seen before. It seemed almost…caring?

Malfoy cocked his ear towards the door. "Do you hear that, Granger?" The music from the Great Hall was drifting lazily out into the courtyard, twinkling in her ears. Hermione nodded.

Malfoy smiled, not his usual smirk, but a real smile. Hermione was taken aback. She was even more so when Draco put out his hand.

"Would you do me the honour of this dance?" he asked softly, looking at her through his locks, which had fallen over his face.

Hermione, too shocked and confused to do anything else, took his hand. Smirking slightly, Malfoy reached his other hand around to the back of her head. She felt him take the pin out of her bun. Her hair cascaded across her shoulders in curls.

"It's looks better like this," he murmured softly, taking Hermione into his arms.

Hermione felt very uncomfortable as Malfoy began to sway from side to side. However, after several moments, she relaxed and wrapped her arms around his neck. She saw him smirk as she did this. From there, the two enemies began to dance.

They danced in the courtyard, led by the music. It was lyrical and mystical, the way it twinkled out and barely reached their ears. The snow fell lightly onto their heads and arms, but melted quickly. Hermione felt very warm, there in Malfoy's arms. A snowflake landed on her nose. It was enchanting.

Hermione's face was flushed. She was getting goose-bumps, though not from the cold. Hermione looked up into Malfoy's eyes. They were gazing down at her intensely. She couldn't look away. They were enticing. Malfoy didn't break their eye contact either; in fact, he leaned in closer to her.

Malfoy leaned forward and moved his lips to her ear. She shivered as they brushed her skin.

"You are nobody's last resort," he whispered. With those words, Malfoy pulled away from her, stopping their dance. Hermione nearly fell over, she felt flustered. Her mind, so peaceful a second before, suddenly became chaotic.

Confused at what had just happened, Hermione tried to focus her thoughts. There were so many racing through her head. Why had she just danced with Malfoy? Why had she liked it? Focus, Hermione, she shouted mentally at herself. She needed to do something she understood, something that made sense. Krum, she needed to go find him. She understood him.

"Well, umm, Malfoy," she said, stumbling through the words. "I should go, Victor..ummm.. will be looking for me."

Malfoy nodded, looking her over one last time. He stood there solemnly. Hermione nearly tripped over her shoes as she turned and started back towards the castle. Just as she reached the doors, she heard a voice call out from behind her. Turning around, she made contact with those silver orbs one last time.

"Hermione?" he had called out. His name on her lips sent a shiver up her spine.

"Yes?" she asked, thankful she was no longer stumbling.

Looking her over once more, the famous Malfoy smirk appeared on his face. However this time, his eyes were full of emotion. Those eyes…she mused, losing focused, until Malfoy's words pulled her from her reverie.

"You look beautiful tonight."

Hermione's heart stuttered. Beautiful. She was beautiful tonight. Trying not to show how happy she was, she replied a hurried thank you, and finally turned away from the Slytherin Prince and his eyes. She quickly ran back into the castle, trying to forget what had just happened. But she couldn't, and she never would. And one thing in particular would always stay with her, though as she found Krum she pushed from her mind.


	2. The Vanishing Cabinet

Nobody's Last Resort

**I give all credits for the setting of this fanfiction to Starkidsftw. If it hadn't been for her I would not have been able to continue where she left off. And I command you readers to read her fics, because they are great. I'm not kidding. I really loved her one-shot and itched to get my hands clicking at the keyboard and compose a long fanfiction for the first time in years (lack of motivation being the main reason).**

Draco Malfoy stood in the Room of Requirement, fuming. He couldn't believe it. The school year was drawing to an end and he was still nowhere close to completing his mission. The Dark Lord had given it to him last summer, before sixth year had even started. Now here he was, with less than a month before July. He was so close yet still so far.

Every day brought on a stronger sense of fear and panic than the day previous. He was running out of options. He had tried every spell he could think of and studied from all the sections in the Library, including the Restricted Section. Nothing worked on the stupid piece of magical furniture.

He hadn't been able to repair the physical damage on the cabinet with a simple _Reparo_ or any similar spells. Stealing glances and pages from Muggle how-to books in the library, he had managed to fix the cabinet with tools transfigured from broken bits and bobs lying around the Room. It had been such a humiliating job, having to rely on Muggle material to work on a dumb cabinet when he was a Pureblood Slytherin!

Still, when he had the cabinet restored to its former glory, it still wouldn't work and it was driving him further into distress.

He stared down into his hands, feeling what little hope he had within him trickle away into despair. He couldn't give in! He couldn't put his parents in danger! Despite what outsiders thought, the Malfoys loved each other. They loved each other deeply, but were raised to show only indifference and ignore all things that they deemed lowly, including displays of emotions. It was what made the family so esteemed in the Wizarding World.

Draco tried to still the shaking in his hands, as he struggled in vain to come up with the way to solve the mystery that was the cabinet. The last test had been a fail – the rodent had been dead when he opened the door.

It had to do with the enchantments placed on the thing itself, Draco believed. The damage caused to the cabinet must have caused the loss of the magic that enabled it to carry out its purpose – transport. That being said, he was screwed. Draco was sure there wasn't any information on how magical cabinets were spelled or charmed.

The cabinets were no longer in production, and had not been since the end of the First Wizarding War. The cabinets had been used as a method of transportation before the Floo system had been created and implemented in every home. They were only used by wealthy families, for they had been incredibly expensive, much more so than the finest flying brooms on the market at the time. Nowadays the remaining cabinets were regarded as a bad omen because of their involvement in the War itself.

Many good families during the war had aided in the hiding of thousands of Muggleborns and halfblood witches and wizards. They strategically placed one twin of their cabinets in a hidden encampment located across the world where magical folk rarely frequented. However, Voldemort and the Death Eaters soon caught wind of the secret mission. With the help of Polyjuice Potion, they infiltrated the homes of those families, tortured them and travelled through the cabinets. They slaughtered all those found at the encampments, including unknowing Muggles. Then they destroyed the bodies, the camps and all of the cabinets they could find.

Draco suspected that the Death Eaters must not have known of the last remaining pair, which had one twin residing in Hogwarts.

It had only been about a month since the duel with the Golden Boy in the second floor's girls' bathroom. He knew he was under tight scrutiny by Harry Potter and even his own Godfather now. He couldn't be any more suspicious than he had been. That meant trying to adhere to a semblance of a normal schoolboy schedule from then on.

After having been caught by Filch on his way to the Room of Requirement on Christmas Eve, Professor Snape took it easy on him, knowing full well why the Slytherin student was out of bed after hours. And he took pity on him. He let the boy go with a very stern warning, using the Dark Lord's name as a reminder of his mission.

Draco pulled up his sleeve and looked down at his watch to check the time. His gaze caught sight of the black ink that marred his milky skin. It made his lips curl in disgust, then turn into a frown. His heart hammered upon the realisation of what the Dark Mark meant.

Noting that it was very close to curfew, he knew he had to head down to the dungeons now or face being caught by Filch again.

He had just opened the door to the Room of Requirement when he heard it.

Someone was crying.

The crying figure was in the way of his path to the dungeons. As far as he could tell, there were no secret passageways that could lead him away from the sobbing person.

Knowing that he had no choice, he straightened his robes and walked softly past the alcove where the crying came from. Out of the corner of his eye, the person, a girl, was partially illuminated by the moonlight filtering in through the stained glass window, colouring her skin in patches of red, blue, yellow and purple.

His heart dropped when he recognised the tell-tale bushy brown mane. That hair belonged to no one but the school's resident know-it-all, the one person he both hated and loved, the only person he watched from a distance with a mixture of burning jealousy and desperate longing.

And she was crying. Again.

And it was probably the Weasel's fault. Again.

Oh, how he wanted to shake some sense into her. She deserved so much more than the friendship offered by that bumbling fool. He could not for the life of him comprehend why on Earth she liked him. They were on such different levels. She was beautiful, he was garish with his freckles and massive honker. She was intelligent whereas the boy was stupider than a brick and should not even be allowed to hold a wand.

Pain shot through his chest as he took in the heaving form of Hermione Granger as she sobbed into the sleeve of her robes. He couldn't walk away from this. It was his one chance to redeem himself before the year ended and she hated him for good.

"Hermione?" Draco said softly so as to not startle her. The girl quickly wiped away her tears and ceased her sniffling before whipping her head up to focus on the owner of the voice. Her eyes narrowed in defence and she slowly made for her wand tucked inside her robes.

"What are you doing here?" She said, her tone hard and steely.

"Why are you crying again?" Draco asked, taking a step forward. Hermione's tiny hand closed around the hilt of her wand, her knuckles turning white.

"Why do you care? Go away." She placed her feet on the ground.

"Why do you cry for him, Granger?" He took another step. "He doesn't deserve those tears." Another step and Hermione's wand was out and aimed straight at his chest. He stood still, watching her scrutinise him. "You're worth so much more than the likes of that Weasel."

Seconds passed between them in silence and Hermione lowered her wand slightly, tilting her head down a little, even though she still had her sights firmly on his figure. He took that as a chance to close the distance between them. She stiffened quite visibly as he sat down next to her in the alcove, leaving a respectable space between the two. He stared out into the gardens through the windowpanes. It was a new moon so everything was bathed in near impenetrable darkness but he could make out the rippling surface of the Black Lake and the silhouette of mountains in the distance.

He watched her reflection as she stared at him with intense curiosity. He could feel the hairs on his arms rise as he felt her eyes on him. Her wand hand had lowered to rest on her lap.

It was an interesting feeling, being so physically close to the one you adored yet so far on a social and emotional level. It was somewhat bittersweet.

He turned his head to gaze at her properly, taking in her beauty and basking in it. He ingrained her scent in his memory– apple, cinnamon, and books. He knew the smell of books in the library, he breathed it in every time he opened a volume. It was so typical that it hung about Hermione Granger like a delicate cloud.

"Why?" Hermione shook him out of his reverie and he blinked. "Why now, after all these years of bullying and taunts? Why me, a… Mudblood?"

He felt his lips press into a hard line at the derogative term for Muggleborns. He was reminded of the very first time he ever called her that. He faced away from her, already feeling so weak under her gaze. Those deep amber-brown eyes were tantalising and he could easily lose himself within those depths.

Several minutes passed and silence hung about them so very awkwardly that Hermione had begun to fidget.

"I should go in. Be careful, Filch is in a particularly harsh mood today. Some second-years Dungbombed an empty classroom earlier."

Draco's heart leapt at her show of kindness. She had told him to be careful! Him!

She pushed herself up from the bench and lingered. "Well… good night… Malfoy." She turned away and began walking. She had only taken a few steps when he stopped her in her tracks.

"Hermione?" She turned around. It was so odd hearing her sworn enemy call her by her first name and with such a tender tone. She took this moment to study him properly.

"Yes?"

"Do you think that people like me deserve a second chance?" He asked; hope lacing the words as they poured from his lips.

She considered him for a moment before responding. "I believe that _everyone _deserves a second chance, considering their actions and reasons behind them," she said softly. "So yes, I do think you deserve a second chance."

Draco pulled his attention away from the window to rest his eyes upon her. He smiled gratefully. There was no way he could hide the happiness and hope that welled up inside of him.

It startled Hermione so much, seeing the boy's lips stretch across his perfect teeth in a truly genuine smile. It made him look so different, so innocent and sweet. It frightened her a little bit how attractive he looked right then and there, surrounded by a faint halo of moonlight.

"Sweet dreams, Hermione." He said softly. She nodded dumbly and turned to leave. He said one more thing before she left, though.

"And Hermione, you're nobody's last resort."

She walked away slowly, as if she couldn't trust her legs to keep her upright.

Draco watched her leave, the grin growing smaller the further she went, until it faded away completely as she turned the corner.

Did she not remember it at all?

Casting a Disillusionment Charm upon himself, he crept his way down all the floors, sticking to the shadows as he avoided both Filch and the bloody cat. He was in a daze, allowing himself one night of bliss as he thought of Hermione Granger blushing as they said their goodbyes. He wished that he had cheered her up a bit, if that was the only thing he could do for her.

Suddenly, Draco found himself in the sixth year dorms with no memory of ever giving the password at the entrance to the common room. Paying it no mind he threw himself onto his bed, closing the curtains and sealing it shut. Ignoring the fact that he still had not changed into his pyjamas, he slipped under the covers and drew out a hairpin from the inner pocket of his robes. Casting a _lumos_ with his wand, he gazed down at the hairpin, the memories from the night in the photograph filling every crevice in his mind and pushing out all of the bad thoughts and feelings.

_The night had begun horribly, what with Pansy sapping the life out of him with pointless gossip and inane chatter. He had painfully prayed for the end of the night to come quickly. Until he walked past Hermione into the Great Hall, her hand wrapped delicately around the crook of one Viktor Krum's arm. He would have loved to admit that he was not the jealous type. But he was, and upon seeing the pair, fury bubbled inside of him. He kept his mouth shut. He didn't want to ruin her night by saying something stupid. He didn't want her to stop beaming as if she was on top of the world._

_Draco spent the whole night trying not to seek Hermione out with his eyes, but it was a near-impossible task. His jealousy was overwhelming, and he could not stop watching her dance in the middle of the floor. She looked so carefree and happy, the skirt of her dress twirling about her in waves of blue as she moved to the rhythm in the arms of Krum._

_When he had spied an argument brewing on the other side of the Great Hall, he knew that Hermione's night was ruined because of the stupid Weasel. For the first time ever, he allowed himself to feel a bit prideful that he wasn't the perpetrator. Taking a quick glance around the Hall for his date, he slipped away and out of the Hall. He had jogged over the threshold through to the Entrance Hall when he spotted the edge of Hermione's periwinkle blue dress disappearing through the massive doors. He raced after her, stilling to a stop at the steps. He watched her rub her arms and give up at the uselessness of the action._

_She looked so miserable standing out there as the snow slowly covered the cobblestones. Her form was shaking with restrained tears and he could no longer stand by and watch her cry anymore. She really should be inside where she would be warm and dry._

"_Granger?" He called out, going down the steps carefully in case of ice. Hermione whipped her head around and he heard a begrudging groan escape her. At that moment he was half tempted to leave her sorry ass and go back inside. How rude!_

"_What, Malfoy?" Her voice cracked and she crossed her arms, presumably to keep herself warm. At that motion he softened up, noticing the way the skin on her arms was blotched from the cold._

"_Granger… are you alright?" _

"_I'm fantastic, Malfoy." The sarcasm was not lost on Draco. After all, he had mastered the art of sarcasm at the age of seven, thank you very much. Still, he wasn't going to rise up to the challenge._

"_No, you're not. I saw you run out of the Hall. What happened?"_

_She smirked at him so coldly that he almost faltered. Fresh tears began welling in her eyes. "Because I'm sure you care, Malfoy."_

"_Hermione." He said firmly yet politely. It had been the first time ever he had called her by her first name and he rather liked saying it. The name was so interesting, so unique and it fitted the girl so perfectly._

_She was still being defensive. She snapped "What, Malfoy?"_

_At that he closed the distance between them, feeling the cold snowflakes settle on his exposed skin. He drew to a stop less than a meter away from her. He could see the frozen tears clinging to her eyelashes and leaving a shiny white trail in its wake. She looked ethereal._

_She lowered her gaze as more tears fell. He reached over and lifted her chin in order to make her look into him. "What happened?"_

"_Ron and I had a fight." She said, wasting no time. _

"_What about?"_

"_Krum." Draco thought for a moment and he couldn't help the smirk that crept across his features._

"_Weaselbee wasn't too fond of you going with the Bulgarian, huh?" Hermione shook her head and Draco watched stubborn strands fall out of her bun. "You know Weasley is just jealous, right?"_

_He saw the understanding flicker through her gaze. He had been on the receiving end of her temper several times that he knew the precise moment just before she snapped._

"_HOW DARE HE?!" She screeched and Draco was captivated. An angry Hermione was a beautiful Hermione. All fire and passion. She ranted for a minute or so until she burst into tears once more._

"_Granger, I know Weaselbee is moronic but why are you so upset? No one would waste that emotion on the ginger. If they did, my faith in humanity is lost." _

_She sniffled, and wiped at her eyes. It had only just pushed the tears into her lashes, making them whiter than before. By now her eyes were rimmed with a white fluffiness._

The days, weeks and months after the Yule Ball, Draco had always wondered what would have happened if he actively pursued Hermione Granger. Then he remembered that on Boxing Day it seemed like everything had returned to normal, as if nothing had taken place in the courtyard the night before.

"_Would you do me the honour of this dance?" He asked, holding out a hand for her. She took it gingerly, obviously shocked at his change of character. He glanced at the perfect curl on one side of her face, and inspired, he reached behind her head and removed the pin. He marvelled at the way the mane rippled down her back and over her shoulders, smooth and full of life. He ran his fingers through it before pulling away with the pin still in his hand._

"_It looks better like this," he murmured, still entranced by the luscious locks. Remembering his company, he put the pin into his pocket and wrapped his arm around her very petite waist, drawing her close to him. There was a considerable gap between them but he respected it and began the dance. The dance couldn't be called as such, since it only involved the two swaying side to side, Hermione being inexperienced whilst Draco had been trained to dance like a gentleman by third year._

_After a few minutes, Hermione apparently seemed to trust him and slipped her hand out of his hold to place it behind his neck, her other one joining it within seconds. She stepped closer, pressing herself flush to his torso and he held her close._

_She blushed so prettily when a snowflake landed on her nose. He maintained eye contact, drinking in the warm caramel of her orbs, framed with white flecks trapped in her lashes. He could count her lashes from this distance if he had the time._

_He leaned down to whisper into her ear. "You're nobody's last resort."_

Draco clutched the pin tightly as the words _'You're nobody's last resort' _repeated itself in his mind. Opening his palm he caught the light glinting off the large princess cut sapphire. The pin was simple but elegant, the stone in silver filigree setting framed with two silver flowers, a clear crystal in the centre of each flower. It screamed of antiquity and Draco had often wondered if it had been passed down to Hermione from an ancestor. He would feel bad at the thought. He had been set on returning it one of the days after the Ball. He decided not to when Hermione treated him the same as she always had, the hatred for him worsening when the article about Hagrid was published in the Daily Prophet.

So now Draco kept the pin as a reminder. Maybe one day if he was truly lucky, he would be able to return it to her on good terms.

Only if he was truly lucky.


	3. The Enchanted Galleon

**It's been over a week since I uploaded the first chapter so I figured it a good time to upload the second one. I am waiting on Starkid to beta-read the next chapter but I have up to chapter 5 written. It's a slow progress but progress nonetheless.**

**I hope you all enjoy this and I would really appreciate some reviews.**

He knew it was creepy, what he was doing now. Malfoys daren't even allow themselves to think of being a peeking tom. Draco justified his actions by the fact that it was most likely the last time he would ever see her before things went downhill for both Hogwarts and the Wizarding world.

According to Professor Snape, tomorrow Headmaster Dumbledore would be absent from Hogwarts. During his absence Draco was to allow Death Eaters entrance into the castle. The moment the first Death Eater took a step out of the Room of Requirement, all hell would break loose and Hogwarts would then be under the Dark Lord's control.

All that frightened Draco out of his wits, but that wasn't what scared him the most.

What scared him more was that tomorrow he would become a murderer by force.

He was to murder the most beloved Headmaster of Hogwarts to date. He had a deep respect for the old wizard under the surface. On the outside he simply said what he could to assimilate and appeal to the other pureblooded Slytherins. He had wanted to climb his way to the top of the social ladder within the House of Salazar. So, that being said, he regretted that Dumbledore had to die by his own wand but he had no choice; it was either Dumbledore or his parents. He did not want to witness his parents being killed in front of him.

Still, deep down on the inside, he knew he was a coward, and he knew he couldn't cast an Unforgivable. He didn't have hate enough for it.

Draco shook the thoughts out of his mind, opting instead to peer through the shelves in the library. He was in a secluded corner, not more than a few shelves away from the person slumped over a pile of books, deep in sleep, her hair tied back in a careless bun.

There was only one word to describe the vision before him: cute. Hermione Granger had to be the cutest thing in the world whilst asleep.

No one was in the library at this time of night; most of the students had returned to their common rooms to avoid curfew.

He stepped out of the shadows quietly and approached the figure. She had been doing Ancient Runes homework and he registered the assignment. She had been close to finishing the translation for the second last rune before she drifted off, he noted.

Tempted, he drew the parchment to himself, dipped a quill into the black ink and finished the remaining translations for her in his tidy script. He then found a spare bit of parchment under the Runes textbook and scribbled.

Forgive me, Hermione, but I could not resist leaving your work unfinished. Sweet dreams.

He placed the note on top of the assignment. Then he kneeled down next to her in order to get a better look at her features, admiring the way her face had arranged itself into a peaceful expression, her lips slightly parted and revealing her two front teeth. It gave him a jolt of guilt when he was reminded of the time he accidently hit her with the Densaugeo jinx when he had been aiming for Pothead. It sickened him to know that she had her teeth shrunk further than its original size, because it had been her only flaw and even then, it was still an adorable feature.

He was so close to her that he could feel her breath wash over him in gentle puffs, scented with a tiny hint of the treacle tart the elves served for dinner.

Hermione began to move, burrowing her head into her arm. He stood up quickly in order to make a hasty retreat before she woke up. However, she had stopped moving by then. Her action had caused a lock of hair to flop over her face.

Somewhat enticed by the idea of being able to feel her hair again, he reached out and gently moved it out of the way, lightly running his fingertips over the mane as he did so. He restrained the urge to go deeper than that.

Noticing the time on her watch, he straightened up and quietly left her in her slumber. On his way out he saw Professor Snape with the librarian. Suspicious but also wary, Draco tried to slip past without alerting his Godfather.

"Draco, stay." Snape said icily, noticing him immediately. "I understand, Madam Pince. I'll ensure that Redwood fool reimburses you for the book he destroyed today."

Madam Pince nodded sternly, and shot a quick glance at Draco hovering by the doorway. Pursing her lips, she made her way to a pile of returned books and Snape ushered Draco out of the library.

Draco knew all too well why the Professor wanted to talk to him. Snape led him into a broom cupboard and cast the Muffliato charm at the door.

"You wanted to speak to me, Professor?" Draco asked dryly. Snape narrowed his eyes, lips pressed into a thin line.

"No need to be smart with me, boy. You were careless with Granger tonight." Snape all but snarled.

Draco sighed and crossed his arms, leaning on the doorframe.

"What if other students had seen you? What if the mission was compromised?" Snape reprimanded him. "What if he had found out? You could have placed her in considerable danger!"

Draco looked away from his godfather, unable to handle the calculating stare the man was giving him. "You know why I did it. You'd do it too if you knew it was the last time you'd ever see her."

Snape bared his teeth. Sometimes the man wished he had never told the boy of his feelings for a certain Lily Evans. He knew Draco could be trusted with the information and was a skilled Occlumens himself, but Draco sure knew how to work his way out of an argument whenever it concerned the matters of the heart.

"Don't think I don't know what you're trying to do by digressing from the topic at hand. You cannot make a mistake, not now. Not when there are lives at stake, including my own. Draco, get a handle on your emotions, boy."

"I know, Professor." Draco bit out.

"You know I wouldn't even wish your mission upon my worst enemy, Draco, and I am doing all I can to assist you every step of the way. I do not shun your affections for the Muggleborn but I am concerned that the Dark Lord will try and use it against you if he finds out. It's bad enough that she's Potter's best friend and the brains of the group. He'll take whatever chance he gets to use her for bait to lure Potter out."

"I know." Draco murmured, disheartened.

"Imagine what Bellatrix would do to you if she found out. Why, she'll surely murder you in front of your parents for disgracing the name of Black." Snape grasped the lapel of Draco's school jumper and leaned in close, saying softly. "From now on, Draco, till the end, I urge you to tread carefully. The time for foolishness is long gone."

With that the professor swept out of the cupboard, his cloak giving him the distinct impression of a bat.

Draco grit his teeth. He spotted a beater's bat lying haphazardly on a shelf next to him. He pushed it to the floor in a fit of frustration, gaining a tiny bit of satisfaction at the noise it made. Still riled up he stormed out of the cupboard, heading for the Slytherin Common Room where he could hole himself up in the dorms.

He gave the password to the portrait impolitely and had just stepped in when his annoyance grew worse all thanks to a pest by the name of Pansy Parkinson.

"Draco!" She called out in her sickly sweet voice she only reserved for him. He stifled a groan and tried but failed to ignore her by making a beeline for the stairs. She admonished in what he supposed was false disappointment. "I've been looking for you for hours! Where have you been?"

Due to his upbringing he had no choice but to face her and reply to her question.

"Library." He drawled. Pansy seemed to take that as an acceptable answer and beckoned him over with a manicured nail and a suggestive smirk.

"No thanks, Pansy. I do not have the time for that, whatever that may be." Draco said coldly. "Good night."

He left for the stairs, leaving her sputtering behind him in embarrassment.

Why on Earth did he ever encourage Pansy to think there would be something between them at the beginning of the year? She was such an idiot that he could not ever see anyone marrying her, except maybe Crabbe, though Pansy would consider it an insult if Crabbe ever so much as gave her a Valentine's card. Draco couldn't fathom how he had let her cosy up to him while on the train to Hogwarts at the start of the year.

He supposed that it may have had to do with the fact that he had pretended that the hands running through his hair belonged to Hermione Granger, as pathetic as that sounded for a teenage boy of Malfoy descent.

Draco laid in his bed, clearing his mind of every thought and reinforcing his mental defences. However, it did not help to banish the anxieties that were chewing him up and freaking him out. The ever-pressing thought that the fates of all those around him, and his own, rested in his hands tomorrow. He feared that he would be the cause of so many deaths and maladies as soon as the Death Eaters were granted entry into the castle. He more than figured that even if he had refused to go through the mission of ending Dumbledore's life and beginning the war, someone else would have done it instead.

Still, he hadn't quite succeeded in finishing the repair of the cabinets. He felt that he was close to completing it but could he finish it by the next day? He had his doubts, a gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach. He had succeeded in having a book sent to him from the Malfoy Library, information about Vanishing Cabinets concealed within a newly updated version of Quidditch through the Ages. With the book he was able to discover spells that were used in the production of Vanishing Cabinets back in the day. He had casted all but one of the spells, the last being the trickiest and most difficult to master thanks to a long pronunciation and complicated wand movement.

He turned in his four poster, the sheets and green covers tangling in his limbs as he struggled to sleep. He couldn't risk thinking of Hermione tonight, wherein the past he would have imagined a future with the two of them and that alone would have let him drift off easily. It was far too dangerous for her. Snape was right.

Draco skipped all of his classes the following day, only showing up for breakfast in the morning to settle his nauseous stomach. He hadn't even managed an hour of sleep and already he was feeling the effects of sleep deprivation. His legs felt leaden and he was sporting a horrible headache that pounded with every step he took. He knew he looked horrid, having looked in the mirror in the bathrooms just before leaving the dungeons. His eyes were framed with darkened bags, his skin pale and blotchy in areas. He knew his weight loss was obvious. Even his hands looked spidery, strongly reminding him of the ones belonging to the cruelest wizard in history.

Draco slid into a seat at the end of the Slytherin table, his head downcast as he avoided conversation. He chewed absently at a piece of toast, deep in thought and weak from nerves and fear.

Draco chanced a glance at the teacher's table. There he could see Dumbledore enjoying a breakfast fit for a king with vigour that Draco envied. Draco swept his gaze across the table to find that Snape had been watching him much like a crow, his fingers caressing his chin in a thoughtful manner. Snape narrowed his eyes, as if trying to tell him something. Draco assumed the meddling professor wanted to be updated on the progress of his mission. Letting his lips curl in response, Draco returned to his food.

It wasn't a few minutes later that out of the corner of his eye he saw a couple of late-comers enter the Great Hall. He looked up and took in the sight of Harry Potter striding next to his new girlfriend, Weaslette. Behind them Ron was glowering at the couple's intertwining hands as he followed them to the Gryffindor table, where he took his place next to no one other than Hermione Granger.

Hermione smiled at the new arrivals and then brought her book up to her nose. However, it didn't seem like she was reading it.

It hit him only seconds later that she was staring unabashedly at him over her book. His stomach gave a jolt at the expression she was wearing, as if she was trying to put together a puzzle.

That puzzle was him.

Draco quickly looked back down, what little of his appetite gone thanks to the guilt that had consumed his insides. Forced to formulate a plan on the spot, he pushed his food away with a sickened look on his face.

"What's wrong, Drake?" Pansy asked across from him. Draco stood up, ignoring her question. "Where are you going?" she demanded.

"Hospital Wing," he muttered, knowing full well she could hear him.

He left the Hall quickly and made his way up the stairs. Once he reached the infirmary, he made his presence known to Madam Pomfrey. She fussed over him, promptly handing him several pepper-up potions. She waved her wand over his form with a diagnosive spell and then handed him an Anti-Nausea potion which he took without complaint, despite the bitter taste.

She ushered him out of the Wing and he took shelter behind a stone pillar. Pocketing all the vials, he cast a Disillusionment charm upon himself. Keeping close to the walls and walking slowly, he headed for the Room of Requirement on the Seventh Floor. It was a long progress given that the bell was about to ring and students were en route to their classrooms. He had to avoid lines as well. Finally reaching the top floor, he raced to the corridor where the room was, thankful that the floor had been practically empty.

He paced in front of the blank wall three times and, as expected, the door appeared in front of him. All day Draco was hard at work with the spell, gulping down pepper-up potions every three hours. Dinner came and went, and Draco was still working. Curfew was close and he was running out of time. There were less than four hours till midnight and Dumbledore hadn't left the castle yet. Snape was supposed to notify him when the Headmaster departed.

Full of desperation Draco attempted the spell again and a swirling stream of umber magic emitted from the end of his wand and flowed into the open cabinet. The cabinet glowed as the swirls sunk into the wood like smoke.

Draco stilled for a moment, unbelieving of what had just taken place.

Had he finally accomplished the last spell? As far as he could tell from the book, it seemed to have worked.

Just to be sure, Draco performed the spell again and the result was the same though the cabinet glowed slightly brighter than it had before.

Bouncing on the tips of his toes in anticipation, he transfigured a stuffed mole into a live one. He put it on the floor of the cabinet and closed the door gently, as if a sudden movement could destroy his efforts. Draco leaned back on the door, crossing his arms as he waited for a short while.

He opened the door once again. The mole was nowhere to be seen. He eagerly shut the door again.

At that point a silvery form had come into the room through the cathedral windows, gliding through the glass like a ghost and coming to a stop in front of Draco. He immediately understood it to be a corporeal Patronus. It was of a doe, regal and elegant.

Why had a Patronus been sent to him now of all time?

"Estimated time of departure is 30 minutes, Draco. Be prepared." Snape's memorable voice emitted from the doe and Draco had to resist a snigger. He had no idea that his godfather's Patronus had been something as ridiculous as a female dear. The thought was soon banished when Draco heard squeaking coming from within the cabinet. The Slytherin wrenched open the door to find the creature scurrying around in fright.

Draco whooped in glee, punching the air with his fist. This part of the mission was complete!

"Who's there?" A female voice suddenly called out from somewhere near the entrance.

Draco sprang into action, yanking his Hand of Glory out of the book bag. He dug a hand into his pocket and withdrew a black pouch. Opening it with speedy fingers he pulled out a fat pinch of black glittery powder and threw it at the floor around the corner. Instantly the area became very dark and he charged forward some more, throwing another pinch towards the entrance, the withered hand tucked in the crook of his elbow providing him with much needed light. He turned the corner and saw the Divination professor trying to gain entrance into the Room of Requirement, though the pitch darkness made that nearly impossible for her.

"Everte Statum!" Draco shouted, aiming his wand at her in the direction of the open entrance.

The witch, having recognised the spell, bellowed "How- dare- you" and the witch was suddenly hurled backwards, screaming. Draco raced to the door and pushed it shut. He cast a powerful locking charm on it, sprinted back to the cabinet and set down the Hand of Glory. The mole was nowhere to be found, most likely having been frightened away by the noise. Bringing his watch up to his line of sight he took note of the time. He couldn't alert the Death Eaters as of yet. Dumbledore was still within the boundaries of Hogwarts.

He fingered the enchanted galleon in his pocket to ensure that it was still on his person and secure. He needed to know when Dumbledore would return so that he could meet the Headmaster as soon as he arrived. Thankfully he had thought to check on Madame Rosmerta earlier today via owl post. She was still well under the influence of the Imperious Curse.

Too nervous to stand still and wait for the minutes to pass by, Draco distracted himself from the impending war by searching for the mole.

He never found it.


	4. Of Chicken and Cheese

**I hope everyone is enjoying this so far. I have established that I will be uploading a new chapter every week, but even though I will do everything I can to ensure the consistency and frequency of new chapters, I would really love to read some reviews to see how everyone responds to the quality of my writing. It would help so much.**

**Enjoy.**

The plate in his hands was shaking violently. The meagre meal of hard cheese, a day-old chicken wing and stale bread was in danger of toppling off the ceramic dish. Wishing that his hands would stop moving, he made his way down the flagstone steps leading to the cellar. The passage and cellar reminded Draco distinctly of the dungeons in Hogwarts, cold and damp but with the miserable stink of mould and urine.

Parts of Malfoy Manor had been neglected ever since the Dark Lord had begun to use the manor as headquarters. That was before his sixth year began. He felt increasingly unwelcome within the place he had been born and raised. It no longer held the regal charm he remembered.

Never before had Draco ever thought he would become a prisoner in his own home. He often found himself wondering why he was not living in the cellar alongside the Dark Lord's prisoner, Ollivander. He would be just as lonely and miserable in the lowest floor of the Manor as he already was in his own bedroom.

Reaching the base of the steps he turned the lock, knowing that Ollivander wouldn't attempt escape or cause injury to Draco. They had made an unspoken agreement to be civil to each other. Draco would be the one to bring the poor man food twice a day as well as secretly heal the man's wounds after each round of torture. Ollivander would accept without complaint. Beyond that, it was far more risky for Ollivander to leave than to stay in his dingy hole.

Draco waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He soon located the wandmaker by following the sound of his laboured breathing. Frightened, Draco hurried to the man. Ollivander was lying face down in what looked like a mixture of blood and vomit. Restraining the urge to gag at the sight, Draco hurriedly sat down the plate and gently helped the man up into a proper sitting position.

"Another one?" Draco muttered with disgust and the wizard nodded weakly, looking as if he had aged 10 years overnight. His face bore new cuts and they were bleeding steadily. Shaking his head in anger, Draco drew his wand out and pointed it at different points on the old man's body, repeating "Sanare," several times as the skin fused together, leaving ugly red scars behind. He then waved his wand over the man's limbs and face to recreate the appearance of battered and torn skin.

Draco was no idiot. The others in the Manor would discover that he had healed the esteemed wandmaker's wounds if he did not disguise the newly healed cuts and bruises.

"Tergeo." Draco cleared the blood and vomit from both the floor and the man's clothes. He then isolated the cheese from the other food, leaving enough space around it.

"Engorgio," Draco muttered and his wand created a circle of bright light around the chunks of cheese. The cheese grew about four times its size and Draco smirked to himself. He pushed the plate towards the other man and gestured at him to eat.

"Th-hanks, m'boy…" Ollivander said, ripping the bread apart with his fingers. Draco nodded and left, schooling his mind and features before he joined the others.

He found the Death Eaters and his father in one of the Manor's many studies. This room was just used for plotting, be it kidnappings, murders, chaos or disasters. He had tried to avoid this place ever since the summer holidays had started. However, because of his failure at killing Albus Dumbledore the Dark Lord insisted, or rather, commanded that Draco take part in every session. The unsaid threat hung in the air.

Draco entered the room as quietly as he could so as not to garner attention. His father raised his head from the map they were poring over. "You took your time, son." He addressed his only child, and Draco nodded, taking his place next to Lucius. It was not until the sun began to set that he and the others were excused from the study and free to leave the residence. However, Draco was still not at peace even when the last one, Theodore Nott's father, stepped out of the threshold.

Not wishing to join his family for dinner in the hall, Draco asked one of the small handful of elves for his dinner to be served in his quarters. This was becoming a habit and he doubted that his parents minded. They were all stressed and more often than not, each one of them tended to prefer solitude when the guests had left. It was only his dratted Aunt Bellatrix that tried to invade everyone's, save for Lucius, solitude as a result of boredom.

The witch became insane when bored. It was during those periods that she would try and get Draco to join her in torturing Ollivander. It was impossible to refuse. The first time he did so, his Aunt had put him under the Cruciatus curse in front of his mother. Narcissa wished to throw herself on top of her son and shield him from the curse. However, there was the possibility of Bellatrix reporting the incident to Voldemort.

As soon as Bellatrix had ceased Draco's torture, she left to Merlin knows where and Narcissa helped Draco up and onto a chair. She withdrew her wand and cast the Muffliato charm around them and locked the doors. She too felt like a prisoner in her own home.

"My dear son," Narcissa murmured as she sat next to him. Tears welled up in her eyes when she noticed the shivers wracking Draco's body. She began stroking the boy's hair in order to calm him, as well as herself. Draco tried to hold himself together by crossing his arms tightly, his fingers digging deep into the fabric of his jacket. "It may seem like a cowardly suggestion, but I believe it would be wise to do what my sister asks of you."

"But I can't do it!" Draco said desperately. "You're meant to mean it, to commit to it. I can't do that!"

The woman gazed at her son despondently. She completely understood where her son was coming from; after all, she took after her other sister Andromeda in that respect. She was too gentle with people and could not put another under the Unforgivable curse even to save her life. Her role in the upcoming war was to provide shelter for all the escaped convicts of Azkaban and house the Dark Lord without complaint. She had no part in their plans or their malice. And she would rather face torture herself than subject someone else to the agony of the Cruciatus Curse.

She was proud that her son was more like her than his father.

They sat in silence for another hour until Draco had regained his composure, straightened his shirt, ran his hand through his hair and announced he was going to bring food to the wandmaker. That had marked the start of their non-verbalised deal. Quite sadly, Draco felt that he didn't deserve the man's forgiveness when he was forced to participate in his torture from that moment onwards. While Draco could not find it in himself to perform an Unforgivable, he had to find other means of torture, other ways to please his Aunt.

July rolled around and Draco, depressed by the repetitiveness of the holidays so far, had holed himself up in his room, determined to get some studying in though he had the sneaking suspicion that it was a futile and useless attempt.

Considering how the plans were going, Hogwarts was going to be under Voldemort's control and homework, exams and even Quidditch would be considered an unnecessary waste of time.

Knock, knock. Someone was at his bedroom door, and Draco was in no mood whatsoever to answer the call.

"Draco," His mother's soft voice called out to him, concerned. He opened the door for her, observing the frown that crossed her forehead. She stepped into his room, glanced around at the bare walls and took her place in a chair beside the door with a sigh.

Taking the hint, Draco chanted the spell he had learned from the Potions Master at the door, feeling assured that they would not be overheard.

"Mother." She landed her gaze upon him. "You seem stressed."

His mother gave a shaky sign, her hands wringing the deep grey fabric of her robes. "He's coming back tonight."

Draco knew exactly who _he_ was. Fear rippled through his body. He let his mask fall for a second to show his mother he understood. He brought it back up, his insides squirming with unease. He sat down on his bed and pondered for a moment before glancing up at his mother.

She cleared her throat and told him, "Please make yourself presentable for dinner at 6 o'clock, Draco. We have guests. The Dark Lord will arrive shortly afterwards." Narcissa Malfoy then stood and tentatively placed a delicate hand on her son's shoulder. She gave him what she hoped was an encouraging smile and swept out of the room.

Draco had an extremely bad feeling about the upcoming meeting. There was a knot in the pit of his stomach, a very strong sense of foreboding. He wanted to run away, so very far away. Lord Voldemort had gone away for an all-too-short two weeks on a mission, and it looked like he had finished what he set out to do in the first place. The fact that a grand dinner had been planned for tonight meant that Lord Voldemort had very important information or news.

That being said, Draco set to work on making his mental defences the strongest he could. There was no room for mistakes tonight. Today he had to be very careful.

Later that day, Draco meticulously checked over his attire in the antique gilded mirror. His tie was perfectly knotted and his hair combed back, nary a strand out of place.

A loud crack sliced through the tension in the room and Draco was alerted to the sudden appearance of a house elf.

"Dinner is being served in five minutes," announced the elf.

Draco addressed the elf with a grim smile which the small creature returned. Unbeknownst to anyone in his family, friends and everyone else, Draco had become more kindly towards house elves ever since the end of fourth year. It all had to do with a midnight foray into the kitchens that left him questioning his prejudice towards the creatures.

It was thanks to the meddling bookworm that he had changed his views on them. Had the elves not gushed about how lovely and caring Hermione Granger was even though she had undertaken steps to sneakily free them from servitude, he wouldn't have felt so compelled to begin treating them with more respect.

Dobby was proof of that, showing up by his side with pudding on a plate and a tower of the ugliest knitted hats he had ever seen on top of his little head. When Draco remarked on the awfulness of such headwear, Dobby had responded defensively, clutching one to his chest.

"Master will not insult Miss Granger in front of Dobby!" The house elf scolded shrilly. At that Draco plucked one off the stack for a closer look. He then became overwhelmed by Hermione's determination and compassion.

It humiliated him on the inside for such a long time. He thought the servants were dumb, useless and deserved to be treated horribly. That night he discovered that they were rather intelligent, enthusiastic and eager to please everyone, especially the really special ones like Hermione and Saint Potter. They had magic that was of a different level to the Wizarding kind, and they were powerful. They were fully capable of speech and even more emotions and sentiments than humans.

He couldn't be obvious about his change of treatment towards the house elves. However, when he was alone and away from prying ears he would hold light conversations with them within the confines of his room. Their company was a respite from the gloomy solitude he was trapped within.

Draco nodded at the elf and stared at the wall as the elf disappeared from his sight.

He spun on the spot and then there was the all too familiar tug below his navel. The trip lasted less than a second and Draco landed deftly on his feet, unaffected by the sensation of being squeezed through a tube. When it was from one side of the house to the other, obviously one wouldn't be affected. The body didn't register a feeling like that if it happened in a blink of an eye.

He found himself standing outside the Dining Hall grand doors. He breathed deeply, tracing the intricate carvings on the unpainted white pine. Grasping the knob tightly, he made his entrance. He took his seat next to his parents and crossed his hands in his lap, the tension and fear rendering his appetite non-existent.

All the other seats were filled by Death Eaters and they were eying him with great distaste. Recoiling slightly under their stares, he focused on the empty bowl before him.

Draco's spirit took a beating when the high-pitched voice of his Aunt Bellatrix piped up gleefully, "He's coming!"

"Yes, Bella. That is why we're here." MacNair said dryly. Bellatrix responded with a sneer.

"Well, as his most loyal follower, I received word from the Dark Lord himself that we will be having a very special guest tonight." She cackled. "I hope it's a Mudblood!"

At the point their bowls filled up from the bottom upwards as if it had expanded. Draco recognised the soup to be bouillabaisse. Apparently they were being served French food.

His Aunt's comment disgusted him to the point where he didn't think he would be able to stomach dinner. The others were happily digging into their food, making conversation over the scraping of metal against china. He reluctantly began scooping up the dish.

He hadn't gone halfway through it before the bowl emptied itself. The bowls vanished from the table and in their place came fine dinner plates with gilded edges.

On his plate there were Coq-au-vin - rooster slow cooked in wine, and braised vegetables served on the side. As was the norm within the wealthy Malfoy family, small plates of foie gras and rich cheese dotted the length of the marble table, as well as freshly baked crusty bread. To wash the fine cuisine down, expensive wine continuously filled the glasses, poured from nowhere.

"Say, Draco," his Aunt drawled, "Do you think he captured _the_ Mudblood?" Draco didn't need ask who she meant. What colour was left drained from his face completely.

"Wouldn't that be so delightfully easy?!" She shrieked, dissolving into a fit of laughter. "I can't wait to get my hands on her! What a pathetic little Mudblood."

Draco bit his tongue, carefully restraining himself from an outburst. Never before had he loathed his Aunt so much. He glanced sideways to his mother and he caught the minuscule shake of her head. The words that spilled out tasted like poison as he said them.

"Yes, Aunt. Potter would come after her without question. She is the perfect bait."

Seemingly appeased by his reply, Bellatrix smirked.

The food felt like cardboard in his mouth. He constantly had to take sips of the wine to ease the food down his throat. Soon enough the drink had made his mind a pleasant buzz and he was able to finish off the rest of his dinner. The plates cleared and stomachs became full in no time. As soon as the last plate disappeared, croquembouche was served for dessert.

As he disliked sweets, he ignored the last course. Almost immediately after dessert had been served, there was the announcement that the Dark Lord was in the grounds.

His father stood up and swept his hand over the table, which was cleared in seconds. Only a few lit candles remained on the marble surface. Everyone stood in unity and headed out of the doors in silence for the drawing room which was only a few rooms away. They filed into the room and surrounded a table much like the one in the Dining Hall though slightly longer.

Everyone stood behind a chair in complete stillness, facing the entrance. Aunt Bella couldn't contain her excitement. She was rocking on the balls of her feet. The doors flew open and strangely, a strong gust of wind blew into the room, rattling their composures and shrouding the room in darkness. The candles had been blown out.

"My apologies," The Dark Lord's voice did not sound apologetic at all. It was cool and void of emotion.

The candles flickered to life. The dark outlines in the doorway revealed the Dark Lord and the snivelling figure of Wormtail beside him. The evil wizard glided into the Dining Hall effortlessly and situated himself in the chair at the end of the table. Wormtail moved to stand opposite Draco, the table in between them. Voldemort lifted his wand and made a drawing motion, bringing forth a body suspended in mid-air and it floated to a stop above their heads.

It was a female, that Draco could tell, but the body shape was more plump than slim. The hair was brown instead of caramel. He allowed himself a moment of relief.

Draco was brought back to reality when he heard some hissing coming from the doorway. He located the massive snake quickly. He shivered involuntarily.

"Sit." The Dark Lord commanded and they obliged wordlessly. "I see we are missing Snape and Yaxley. Where are they?" The red snake-like eyes belonging to Voldemort addressed his father.

"Delayed, I presume. Severus told me earlier that he had to finalise something. As for Yaxley, I have received no word from him or of his whereabouts." Draco glanced upward at the figure above him, trying to decipher her identity. It didn't help that her hair covered most of her face. The fireplace behind Voldemort roared to life, casting an eerie glow about the room and highlighting the furniture pushed up against the walls. It warmed up the place only slightly.

"Who is it that you have brought along today, My Lord?" Bellatrix pointed up at the suspended body, her expression full of hope and glee.

"Her identity will be revealed when we are joined by our remaining comrades." Voldemort said curtly.

Draco looked up at the floating figure once more. He was unable to completely hide his shiver.

He hoped Yaxley and Snape were late.

…**review? Good? Bad? Average? Horrendous? Let me know, sweets! Constructive criticism, please, not flames. **


	5. Parallels and Comparisons

**Chapter 5 is up! I hope you all are enjoying this so far. Sorry this was a day late, I had a very busy weekend and did not have the opportunity to jump on the computer. Luckily, the length of this chapter is much longer than usual and so should make up for the delay **

**Again, I implore you to review this story because I have no idea how many people actually appreciate my writing. **

The door opened yet again and the two aforementioned men revealed themselves in the doorway, the firelight flickering across their faces. "Yaxley. Snape." Said Voldemort. "You are very nearly late."

He gestured Snape to the empty seat nearest him and sent the other wizard to the last seat towards the end of the table.

"So?" Voldemort prompted.

"My Lord, the Order of the Phoenix intends to move Harry Potter from his current place of safety on Saturday next, at nightfall." Snape said, his face passive.

Draco glanced upwards again, hoping to catch a clear look of the woman's face then he returned his gaze to his Godfather, disappointed. The haziness from the wine was quickly fading away and all too soon he was filled with dread.

"Saturday... At nightfall." Voldemort repeated thoughtfully and Draco watched as the two wizards stared intently into each other's eyes. Had Draco been on the receiving end of Voldemort's staredown, he would have quailed within a second. "Good. Very good. And this information comes..."

"From the source we discussed." Snape completed.

"My Lord." Yaxley intervened from his end of the table and all eyes drew to him, curious. "My Lord, I have heard differently."

After a pause he continued. "Dawlish, the Auror, let slip that Potter will not be moved until the thirtieth, the night before the boy turns seventeen."

The curiosity in the room grew and everyone began to look back and forth across the tables. The shocking thing was that the potions master was wearing a wry smile. "My source told me that there are plans to lay a false trail; this must be it. No doubt a Confundus Charm has been placed upon Dawlish. It would not be the first time; he is known to be susceptible."

"I assure you, my Lord, Dawlish seemed quite certain," said Yaxley. Draco rested his sight on the snake-like face, nervous, perhaps for Yaxley's fate.

"If he has been Confunded, naturally he is certain," said Snape. "I assure you, Yaxley, the Auror Office will play no further part in the protection of Harry Potter. The Order believes that we have infiltrated the Ministry."

"The Order's got one thing right, then, eh?" Said a man Draco could not recognise and could only assume that he hadn't met the man formally yet. The man in question gave a wheezy giggle and a few others, including his Aunt, joined in with giggles of their own. When they saw that Voldemort wasn't laughing they quietened down.

"My Lord, Dawlish believes an entire party of Aurors will be used to transfer the boy." Yaxley was effectively quieted by Voldemort's raised hand and the Dark Lord then began to address Snape.

"Where are they going to hide the boy next?"

"At the home of one of the Order. The place, according to the source, has been given every protection that the Order and Ministry together could provide. I think that there is little chance of taking him once he is there, my Lord, unless, of course, the Ministry has fallen before next Saturday, which might give us the opportunity to discover and undo enough of the enchantments to break through the rest."

"Well, Yaxley?" Voldemort called down the table, the ﬁrelight glinting strangely in his red eyes. "_Will_ the Ministry have fallen by next Saturday?"

"My Lord, I have good news on that score. I have, with difﬁculty, and after great effort, succeeded in placing an Imperius Curse upon Pius Thicknesse." Yaxley spoke after raising his chin, and everyone, save Draco, looked impressed with this new information. Draco's lips curled when Dolohov clapped Yaxley on the back.

"It is a start," said Voldemort. "But Thicknesse is only one man. Scrimgeour must be surrounded by our people before I act. One failed attempt on the Minister's life will set me back a long way."

"Yes, my Lord, that is true, but you know, as Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Thicknesse has regular contact not only with the Minister himself, but also with the Heads of all the other Ministry departments. It will, I think, be easy now that we have such a high-ranking official under our control, to subjugate the others, and then they can all work together to bring Scrimgeour down."

"As long as our friend Thicknesse is not discovered before he has converted the rest," said Voldemort. "At any rate, it remains unlikely that the Ministry will be mine before next Saturday. If we cannot touch the boy at his destination, then it must be done while he travels."

"We are at an advantage there, my Lord. We now have several people planted within the Department of Magical Transport. If Potter Apparates or uses the Floo Network, we shall know immediately."

"He will not do either," said Snape. "The Order is eschewing any form of transport that is controlled or regulated by the Ministry. They mistrust everything to do with that place."

"All the better," said Voldemort. "He will have to move in the open. Easier to take, by far." Again, Voldemort looked up at the slowly revolving body as he went on, "I shall attend to the boy in person. There have been too many mistakes where Harry Potter is concerned. Some of them have been my own. That Potter lives is due more to my errors than to his triumphs."

Draco copied Voldemort's action and managed to catch a clear glimpse of the woman's face. He had been right in that she looked familiar, but he could not figure out from where he had seen her. He had seen her often enough for him to recognise her, but not enough to bother caring about her identity.

A shiver crept up Draco's spine cruelly as a wail had come from in the cellars below their feet. Dread filled his heart and he grew worried. Draco gripped at his knees, desperately trying to ignore the tormented cry from Ollivander. No doubt another Death Eater was downstairs, torturing the poor soul. When Voldemort spoke next, Draco realised he had not been paying attention to a chunk of the meeting, his focus stolen by the revolving witch above him.

"Wormtail, have I not spoken to you about keeping our prisoner quiet?" Voldemort said and the wizard that had been addressed scrambled from his seat.

"Yes, m-my Lord." He gasped and disappeared from sight.

"As I was saying," Voldemort picked up from where he had been interrupted. "I understand better now. I shall need, for instance, to borrow a wand from one of you before I go to kill Potter."

Draco gripped his knees tighter, wishing desperately that Voldemort did not look on him for his wand. How else could he cure Ollivander tonight? He daren't borrow another witch's or wizard's wand, which was suicide. Still, he had promised the wandmaker.

"No volunteers?" said Voldemort. "Let's see . . . Lucius, I see no reason for you to have a wand anymore."

Draco's heart leapt into his throat. Surrendering your wand was like cutting off your arm and Voldemort was clearly punishing his father for his own uselessness, yet Draco couldn't help but feel somewhat relieved.

"My Lord?" His father spoke, his voice hoarse. Like himself, Draco's father looked worse for wear, trapped in his own home for the last few weeks. The man had not seen sunlight for so long.

"Your wand, Lucius. I require your wand."

"I…" Draco saw from the corner of his eye his father glancing at his wife for assistance, but his wife didn't look at him. Instead, she rested her hand on his wrist as some sort of reassuring gesture. Lucius Malfoy, somewhat comforted by his wife, withdrew his wand and hesitantly handed it over to the Dark Lord, who turned it over in his hands, inspecting the length of wood.

"What is it?"

"Elm, my Lord," his father whispered.

"And the core?"

"Dragon- dragon heartstring."

"Good," Voldemort's cold cruel voice said, and he compared the length of his father's wand with his own and Draco saw his father make a move as if waiting for Voldemort's own wand in return. "Give you my wand, Lucius? _My _wand?"

Lucius Malfoy returned his hand to his lap, humiliated. The others sniggered.

"I have given you your liberty, Lucius, is that not enough for you? But I have noticed that you and your family seem less than happy of late . . . What is it about my presence in your home that displeases you, Lucius?"

"Nothing- nothing, my Lord!"

"Such _lies_, Lucius…"

At the end of Voldemort's sentence, a hissing sound had arisen in the room from behind the Dark Lord, echoed by the cold marble tiles. No one needed to search for the source, for the snake had come into view by climbing on Voldemort's chair and around his shoulders like a feather boa. Voldemort stroked the snake's skin lovingly.

Fear for his father's life began to grip Draco, turning his insides cold and his heart into lead.

"Why do the Malfoys look so unhappy with their lot? Is my return, my rise to power, not the very thing they professed to desire for so many years?"

"Of course, my Lord," his father said nervously. "We did desire it- we do."

Draco fearfully chanced a glance at the Dark Lord before distracting himself with the body in front of him.

"My Lord," His Aunt simpered and his hatred for her grew immensely. "It is an honour to have you here, in our family's house. There can be no higher pleasure."

"No higher pleasure," repeated Voldemort. "That means a great deal, Bellatrix, from you."

"My Lord knows I speak nothing but the truth!"

"No higher pleasure . . . even compared with the happy event that, I hear, has taken place in your family this week?"

"I don't know what you mean, my Lord."

"I'm talking about your niece, Bellatrix. And yours, Lucius and Narcissa. She has just married the werewolf, Remus Lupin. You must be so proud."

Draco watched out for his parents' reactions in order to mimic them, and mimic them he did. He sat still; face impassive as best as he could. He reined in the humiliation and anger he felt at the sound of laughter from the other people in the room.

"She is no niece of ours, my Lord," she cried out. "We, Narcissa and I, have never set eyes on our sister since she married the Mudblood. This brat has nothing to do with either of us, nor any beast she marries."

"What say you, Draco?" asked Voldemort. "Will you babysit the cubs?"

Draco's eyes widened and he lost all control he had at managing his expression and he turned to his father fearfully then at his mother who shook her head. The noise increased in volume and the snake hissed again angrily.

"Enough," Voldemort continued stroking the snake. "Enough."

"Many of our oldest family trees become a little diseased over time," he said as soon as the noise died down. "You must prune yours, must you not, to keep it healthy? Cut away those parts that threaten the health of the rest."

"Yes, my Lord. At the first chance!" His aunt breathed in gratitude.

"You shall have it," said Voldemort. "And in your family, so in the world… we shall cut away the canker that infects us until only those of the true blood remain…"

"Do you recognize our guest, Severus?" asked Voldemort as he waved Lucius's wand, restoring consciousness to the figure hanging above them. Draco was alerted by the moan that came out of her lips.

"Severus! Help me!"

"Ah, yes." Said his godfather, and Draco frowned. They were connected somehow. When he heard his name being said, another shiver went up his spine. He shook his head truthfully. He could not take his eyes off the witch.

"But you would not have taken her classes," said Voldemort. "For those of you who do not know, we are joined here tonight by Charity Burbage, who, until recently, taught at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Yes . . . Professor Burbage taught the children of witches and wizards all about Muggles… how they are not so different from us…"

Draco chewed the inside of his cheek, clenching and unclenching his fists. The witch made more pleas towards the Potions master and Voldemort silenced her with a flick of the wand.

"Silence." Voldemort said evenly. "Not content with corrupting and polluting the minds of Wizarding children, last week Professor Burbage wrote an impassioned defense of Mudbloods in the Daily Prophet. Wizards, she says, must accept those thieves of their knowledge and magic. The dwindling of the purebloods is, says Professor Burbage, a most desirable circumstance… She would have us all mate with Muggles, or no doubt, werewolves…"

Draco watched with gut-wrenching sadness at the tears that flowed into her hair as she revolved around to face him again.

"Avada Kedavra."

Draco had quite the fitful sleep that night, his slumber plagued the night with a horrid nightmare involving Hermione Granger. In it she had been dropped unceremoniously onto the hard surface of the table with a sickening crunch from where she had been suspended in mid-air. A bloody groan had escaped her lips as she tried to nurse her ribs, no doubt having broken a few of them in the impact.

And then one by one she was tortured by everyone present at the meeting. The occupants of the table had taken turns with manic looks on their faces, their fingers twitching for their wands. He tried to shield her from the spells directed her way but he couldn't move, his arms glued to his lap as if bound by invisible ropes. He had tried screaming too, to no avail as he had no voice.

It felt like a decade had passed by the time his father beside him began his torture of the Muggleborn and Draco wept at the treachery and betrayal from his father's cruel spellcasting. By the time he was done Hermione had curled up into a ball, bleeding from many places, her leg twisted at a horrible angle, and her skin had taken on a very pale and greenish shade. She was shaking uncontrollably, releasing shuddering gasps as she panted. Every now and then there would be a trickle of frothy blood from her lips.

Draco had stared at her in this state for several moments before he realised that all eyes were on him and he understood that it was his turn. Draco couldn't move and that was both a blessing and a curse. He couldn't hurt her with his own hands, but he couldn't save her. The girl peered up at him through her mane, her eyes boring deep into his, the desperate pleas for help so evident in those caramel irises. She mouthed at him, though he couldn't make the words out clearly but he caught the meaning.

"What are you doing?" His father had hissed fearfully at him. "Do something!"

Draco shook his head at his father and the man's face twisted into a vicious scowl. Draco glanced at the girl in front of him, so small and broken. She coughed, making a vivid red splatter on the marble surface. His stomach turned at the sight of it.

"He's in love!" Bellatrix stood up abruptly, swinging a hand to point at the wretched witch on the table. "With her!"

Draco looked from Bellatrix to his mother, who was wearing a sad smile as she pitied her son, to his father, glaring at his son with the worst hate he had ever seen burning in his piercing orbs, to rest on Voldemort. The Dark Lord had on an indecipherable expression, his lips curling before opening his mouth.

Draco had seen the wizard draw his wand before he understood the consequences of his own actions and he made a strangled noise as he whipped his face around to the girl in front of him. Her eyes were full with tears. Draco struggled against his invisible restraints, the panic pushing him forward. "Avada-"

Hermione blinked, shedding the last of her tears and he saw the acceptance in her eyes as she gave up her fight. His voice was now back and he screamed at the top of his lungs. She closed her eyes just as Voldemort uttered the rest of the killing curse.

A flash of green light crossed his vision and she slumped into a heap with a soft thump. Then suddenly all was black and all he could hear were frantic sobs and 'no' repeated over and over. His eyes began to adjust to the darkness. He stuffed his fist in his mouth, stifling the sound of his cries but nothing could stop the tears. Fear suddenly filled him and he bit down hard on his hand as he checked his mental defences.

Once he'd established that they were still strong, he pushed off the bed covering, vaguely noticing the curved line of blood forming on the back of his hand where he had stuffed it in his mouth. He wiped it on the sheets, not caring about the stain. He made his way down past the ground floor and into the cellars. He'd never been here this late at night before.

He crept his way past the sleeping body at the foot of the stairs, Peter Pettigrew's soft snores masking Draco's footsteps on the cold stone. He unlocked the door and stepped in, finding Ollivander propped up against one of the walls. The man seemed to be watching him. He was so shrouded in the shadows that his silver eyes shone as they traced his movements. Draco reached the man and slumped down the wall next to him, letting out a deep sigh.

"Rough night?" Ollivander asked weakly, his breath coming out in short puffs as if in pain. Reminded of why he had come down here, aside from needing some distraction, Draco moved to sit on his knees in front of the old man.

Draco nodded, desperately trying to avoid seeing the image of Hermione's lifeless body in his nightmare.

"Who was it this time?"

"Professor Burbage." Draco exhaled. He ran his wand over the man's leg, mending the cracks in the bone under the flesh. He observed the blood vanishing from the man's clothing. Then he healed the bruises in the man's torso.

"Charity Burbage." The wand maker reminisced, his voice crackling from disuse. His breathing had become more normal now that his chest wasn't as sore anymore. "I remember her first wand ever so clearly. Yew, 10 and a quarter inches, unicorn hair."

The man cleared his throat painfully and Draco wondered absently how long ago the wizard last had a goblet of water. "She had been such a tiny little thing, a squeaky ball of nerves even for a first-year. The first wand she had tried was a perfect fit and I saw her face light up like a Christmas tree." Ollivander chuckled fondly. "That wasn't my only encounter with the witch. No, she had three wands during her youth."

"Three wands? Why?"

"Silly girl had lost her first wand deep in the Forbidden Forest soon after she started her first year."

"Oh."

"Such a shame though, it was one of the finest wands I have ever made. She came back in just before Halloween for a new one. Another yew, 11 inches, with a dragon core."

"It was more than a few years before she came back in, having broken her wand during Auror training."

"Auror training?" Draco echoed.

"Yes, she wanted to become an Auror. Wanted to protect the good and catch the bad. I think what she wanted most was to protect Muggles and Muggleborns with a non-violent and longer lasting method. Miss Burbage believed that the best way to eradicate the prejudice against them was to start at the root before the pureblood supremacy was instilled into the youth."

Ollivander grew silent for a while and Draco began to suspect that the wizard had fallen asleep. He was then startled out of his thoughts when the man next to him spoke again softly. "A fine example of this, I think, would be from when Severus Snape began his first year. He had been a scrawny thing, pale and timid. I worried about him. As soon as another first year came into the store, it was as if life had been breathed into him."

"I learned that she was a Muggleborn and that they had been strong friends even before they got their Hogwarts letters. And now... he's You-Know-Who's right-hand man." The old wizard sighed and slumped into his seat. "It's a pity. I expected great things from him and Lily Potter. Horace Slughorn is a dear friend of mine ever since our school days, and whenever the man had the chance, he boasted about his favourite students, namely the girl."

Draco rolled his eyes at the mention of Slughorn, having disliked him ever since the beginning of his sixth year. The bloody walrus had gotten in the way of so many of his plans, what with the detention, homework and constant appraisal of his favourite students although Draco envied that he was never invited into the Slug Club, especially when he thought of all the missed opportunities of being in the same room as Granger. Luckily, he had managed to see how pretty she looked on Christmas night when he had tried to sneak into the party but had gotten caught and brought there anyways by Filch.

"They could have changed Potions history together had they put their minds to it." Ollivander breathed out. They both fell silent, and Draco was left to his own thoughts.

The parallels between him and his godfather were glaringly obvious to him now and the thought depressed him. While he had never befriended the brightest witch his age in first year, he had wanted to. However, fear of disappointing his father had stopped him from doing so. He had known that his father was so highly prejudiced all his life but as a child, he'd only wanted his father's love and approval.

They were both equally intelligent and thirsty for knowledge. They were competitive. But they could have brought the best out of each other and helped each other grow if they had been friends.

From what he had learned of Lily Potter, from the rumours that spread through the corridors of Hogwarts and between the ghosts, history books and Professor Slughorn's fond recollections of the witch, Hermione Granger was in so many ways very similar to Lily Potter.

She was clever, bright, and eager to please, loyal, compassionate and fiercely protective of her friends. And then there were the obvious traits; Muggleborn, top of their classes in every subject especially Potions and a beloved favourite of all the teachers. And what was he?

A coward. An outsider. A stupid idiot. All of the things his godfather had been. And like his godfather, he had made the terrible mistake of calling her a Mudblood when his pride was bruised. And undoubtedly like his godfather, she would most likely end up marrying a Potter like Lily had.

Now he had to wonder, why had life turned out this way? He didn't believe in fate, but the similarities were staring at him in the face that it just couldn't be a coincidence. Was he doomed to a lonely, isolated life like his Godfather, albeit with a wife from an arranged marriage? Or was he meant to learn from it and make something good come out of it?

"I've accepted it." Ollivander piped in after what seemed like an hour of silent musing.

"What's that, sir?" Draco asked as soon as he recovered from the shock of having forgotten that he had company.

"I won't be coming out of this war alive." The old man said, and Draco sat up straighter. "I've had a long good life and I am old. Not as old as Dumbledore, bless him, but I have no regrets."

Draco eyed the man's silvery hair and wrinkles. It was approaching dawn, from what light shone through the gaps in the ventilation.

"I'll make sure you're safe and well when this war is over. I promise." Draco said, his heart sinking. What if he himself didn't make it out alive?

"Dear boy, I am not afraid of death anymore."

"I will get you out of this." Draco said firmly. This was a promise he intended on keeping one way or another.

**Review? Pretty please? If you don't, **_**my father will hear about this!**_


	6. The Hoia Baciu Forest

**Sorry! Sorry! I know this is almost a week late. I was so stuck on this one and was only able to complete it because JK inspired me with her little story about the futures of the trio at the Cup. And then I got stuck again when I started the exchange between Voldemort and Snape. Gosh, that was so hard and I had to do a bit of 'light reading' to work it out. Oy vey…**

**The Hoia Baciu is a real forest and has a reputation of being the creepiest forest to date. If you looked it up the myths and local legends can be found easily and it just so perfectly fits in with this fic. I couldn't resist.**

**Anyhoo, read on.**

Draco wanted to vomit. He could taste the bile at the back of his throat. The sight that lay before him was enough to make him sick.

Mad-Eye Moody had been one of his favourite teachers, before he turned out to be Barty Crouch Junior under the influence of the Polyjuice Potion. After that he hadn't spared the former Auror any thought.

But now he lay on the gravel driveway leading to the Manor, unmoving, the space where his magical eye used to be was puckered and ugly. He had been stripped of all his belongings, down to his trousers and undershirt. There had been debate between all the Death Eaters over the body. Some wanted to set it on fire as they did with the others, others wanted to dismember the deceased wizard and leave them in other places as grisly reminders. Draco hoped they wouldn't do the latter, as the body was already in such a dishonourable state. No doubt there were also shattered bones from the fall on top of all the cuts and mud. At least fire would have been a dignified funeral for one of the greatest, if not, according to his reputation, the best Auror of all time.

He had to figure out a way to convince the others to burn the body. Or he had to burn it himself and face their wrath.

"Enough. I know you lot hated Moody, he sent more than half of you to Azkaban but think of the message scattering his chopped up remains across the country would send." Draco said sharply, breathing as he watched the others share looks at each other. Good, he had their attention.

"Mad-Eye Moody was a pureblood wizard, and isn't the whole point of this bloody war to bring all purebloods to rise and eradicate all half-bloods, Mudbloods," Draco forced out, stamping down the burning heat in his chest. "And Muggles?"

He gave them a moment to think. MacNair ran the blade of his hunting knife across a finger as if threatening Draco.

"The Dark Lord would not be pleased." A newcomer, Stan Shunpike said in all his pimply glory.

"The _Dark Lord _would not care what we do with the body, Shunpike." Draco emphasised, his voice taking on a steely edge.

"I highly doubt that, Malfoy." Said MacNair. "I think he would wish to send a message to Potter."

"_What _message would that be, MacNair? Potter already knows that Moody is dead and he is definitely most likely pissed off by that fact. Scattering bits of his… corpse is not going to change anything."

A pause.

"Let's do what we've always done, and burn the body. We've got the eye if a message needs to be sent. Any objections?" He said sharply, making his intentions final.

MacNair scowled at Draco and sheathed his knife. The small handful of Death Eaters surrounding him kept their silence, but made their objections visible. They clearly disapproved of Draco taking charge of this situation.

"Burn the body, Draco." A cool voice said behind him, and Draco didn't have to turn around to know that his godfather had come to his defences.

"With pleasure." Draco bit out. Taking his wand out, he muttered a powerful levitation spell and turned his back on the Death Eaters and Snape, bitterly reminded of the time the impostor said _"I don't like people that attack when their opponent's back's turned. Stinking, cowardly, scummy thing to do."_

Fighting the urge to turn back around and keep an eye on all the other Death Eaters, he made his exit rather quickly. He levitated the body around the Manor to a section in the grounds where burnings were held and placed it gently on a clear patch amongst the ashes and charred bones. With a few choice words, he set the body alight as angry red flames shot from the end of his wand. He stood for a few moments watching as the fire consumed the body and the putrid scent of burning flesh infiltrated his nostrils. He wanted to linger there, knowing that the wizard deserved more respect than a simple burning, so Draco bowed his head for a short while, silently reciting the traditional rites for fire burials.

'_Here burns Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody, renowned Auror and Defense Against the Dark Arts professor of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. May his ashes scatter amongst the wind.'_

"I have to go." The familiar voice of Severus Snape said from his side and he opened his eyes, having closed them during the prayer. He cursed and envied his Godfather's ability to appear without a sound and much like a shadow.

"Why?" Draco lowered his voice to his seldom used respectful tone.

"The Dark Lord wishes to leave the Manor for some time. To collect his thoughts, so to speak."

Inside, Draco was rejoicing at the thought that the most evil wizard would be away from the Manor for some days, but at the same time he was concerned for the safety of his own life as well as his parents'. The failed mission was sure to rattle the Dark Lord to some extent and there were no doubts that he would try again as quickly as possible.

"I wanted you to know that it is no time to relax. He will come back twice as relentless and determined." Snape warned.

"Yes, sir." Draco said bitterly.

"Tread carefully, boy." He repeated and with that, he swept out of sight leaving Draco to stew in his own thoughts. Some time went by before he realised that he had taken far too long in paying his respects, and surely the other Death Eaters would grow suspicious and restless. He hurried inside through the back where the kitchen was located. Once there he quickly gathered what leftovers he could find as well as a large goblet of water.

He spotted another one of the Manor's elves and called Inky over to hand him the plate and goblet, instructing the elf to take it downstairs to Ollivander. Ollivander hadn't been tortured today, so far, as everyone had been giving their undivided attention and energy into perfecting the plan and then getting prepared and into formation to take down Harry Potter.

From what he had heard from the snatches of conversation amongst the Death Eaters in the driveway as they traded their experiences, there had been seven Harrys, each with their own protector, and only one had been hurt, their ear blasted off by Snape.

Draco knew with a sinking gut feeling that Hermione had masqueraded as one of the Harrys and he fervently hoped that she had come out of the ordeal without a scratch.

He watched the elf disappear into the cellar and made his way around the giant house at a leisurely pace. There was nothing he could do at this moment and frankly, he was damn happy to have a few moments of peace to himself.

On the other side of the Manor, Severus Snape was busy in his own chambers preparing what few necessities he required for the trip with Lord Voldemort. It was hard to decipher Voldemort at this moment because the wizard had disappeared off to Merlin knows where and only gave him notice as soon as he landed within the boundaries of the Malfoy Manor.

He gathered a handful of healing potions and carefully slipped them into the inner pockets of his robes. There weren't much else he'd needed to bring for magic would provide him with what he needed.

Deciding that was all, he turned on the spot.

It was a few seconds after landing before his vision cleared and he found himself surrounded at all sides by great trees. The forest he was in was so thick with trunks and foliage they muffled any sound he made.

He turned in a slow circle to find a magical sign for the location of the Dark Lord. Voldemort certainly had a good idea when it came to hiding places. He had finally found the place where the Dark Lord had been in hiding all these years since that fateful Halloween.

They were in the Hoia Baciu forest in Romania, one of the densest and most eerie forests on Earth and Severus smirked to himself when he recalled the myths and local legends surrounding the forest. He would not be surprised if Voldemort had been the cause of all the legends the locals spread amongst themselves. It certainly fit. Not even the most skilled and bravest witches and wizards dared to venture into the woods. Those that did never came out, or so he heard.

Sighting a glimmer of emerald green some ways ahead of him through the thicket, he followed after it knowing that it would lead him to where he needed to go. And he was right for it had created a completely new path through the forest with several more glimmers of the same green light. Twigs snagged at the hem of his cloak and mud weighed down his steps and seeped into his clothing. The dampness did nothing to lift his worsening mood and soon he could feel it chilling him deep down into the bones.

Finally he reached a very small and dry clearing in front of a wall made of rock. The wall jutted up out of the ground like it had been built rather than formed naturally. He could sense the magic emanating from the rock itself and understood that it concealed a cave of sorts.

He approached it and knocked on the rough surface, unsurprised that it made not even a sound. If he guessed correctly from his association with the darkest wizard of all time, the entrance into the cave was to be paid by blood.

Withdrawing a small knife he usually reserved for cutting potion ingredients, he drew it against his left palm, watching as the blood rushed out. He wiped it against the wall and then cast a healing spell to close the wound. Snape stepped back and saw that a crack had formed in the wall with green light filtering through. The crack widened and the light died away to reveal a huge gaping hole which he entered. If he had played his cards right over the last two decades, he needn't fear for his own safety.

He didn't need to turn around to confirm that the hole had been sealed up behind him and that blood would have to be repaid if he wished to exit the cave.

He raised his wand and silently set the tip of the wooden instrument alight with a dim glow. The cave, now illuminated, was deep and had many tunnels. A lot of them he suspected were dead ends and traps for magical wanderers or Aurors on a mission.

Voldemort was expecting him and so another path had formed before his eyes, this time with a small ball of faint white light floating at the end of one tunnel to his right. Without hesitation Snape followed after it, his stride confident and light. There were no more forks in the way, Snape thought with relief, but the walk was long and steep and he had to manoeuvre around large rocks scattered haphazardly along the floor.

Eventually after about a third of an hour spent walking in the deafening darkness of the tunnel, he reached his destination which turned out to be a well-constructed room, with smooth hewn stone walls and floor. The room was bare save for some uncomfortable looking chairs and a fireplace set into the stone, the green tint of the flames reminding Snape of comforts found within the Slytherin common room.

Snape immediately found Voldemort sitting stiffly upright in the chair directly situated in front of the fire and waited to be addressed. This didn't happen for several minutes until Lord Voldemort cleared his throat and spoke softly.

"How do I reach the boy, Severus?" Voldemort raised a hand, as if grasping at something invisible in mid-air. He made a crushing motion with his fist, his bony knuckles jutting out sharply under the thin skin.

"I was not able to locate my source. It seems he has gone into hiding."

"This means…"

"This means I can not keep track of the whereabouts of Harry Potter through him. Not until I am able to gain access into Hogwarts, my Lord."

Voldemort nodded in understanding. "What has made you convinced Dumbledore will divulge the location of the boy?"

"Dumbledore made it his life's mission to protect every student that attends Hogwarts and quite frankly suspected the Malfoy heir of his quest from early on. Young Draco was not very subtle, unfortunately. Thus, he instructed me to take Draco's place instead. If my assumptions are correct, Dumbledore still trusts that I am a spy for the Order."

"Very well." Voldemort said then turned in his seat to face Severus. "Won't you take a seat by the fire, Severus? I imagine the elements outside this cave weren't kind to you."

"Thank you, my Lord." With that Severus Snape settled into the chair on Voldemort's right, soundlessly sighing in relief at the sudden warmth that washed over him.

"I believe Draco Malfoy should stay back at the Manor for the duration of the next school year. He has proved himself to be a rather unworthy Death Eater and I am concerned that he will defect to the other side."

"Doubtful. Draco Malfoy is by all means weak, yes, and a coward. It is because of these attributes that he dares not to defy you, my Lord. My spies within the Manor have not reported any suspicious activity with the boy. He has had no correspondence nor made any ventures outside the boundaries of the Malfoy Manor."

Lord Voldemort stared into the fire thoughtfully and Severus wondered briefly the whereabouts of the great snake, Nagini. No hissing could be heard within the cave and he almost became unnerved. As if reading his thoughts, Voldemort said "She is out hunting. It has been a while since her last feed."

Severus took it in stride and continued. "You may not have noticed this, but the Malfoy heir takes after his mother and I am sure you would agree that it is a good thing, my Lord, as opposed to his father. Narcissa has proven herself to be a dutiful host and very loyal to her family and it is why I believe she too will not defect, even if she does not wholly support the cause. You as well as I know that the more purebloods we keep alive, the easier it will be to re-establish the pureblood population."

"Yes, yes, you are right, Severus. However, Lucius Malfoy is causing discomfort amongst the Death Eaters. They think he does not deserve to remain within the circle."

"I will make no comment on that matter, my Lord. Draco may not be like his father, but if something were…" Snape paused. "To happen to Lucius, I do not believe Draco will stay.

"Love is his motivator."

"Love." Voldemort said as if the idea was so preposterous. "Love is nothing."

_To you, perhaps, but to others, it means everything. _Severus thought and they sat in silence for a long time, the air between them simmering with tension.

"Well. Enough about that." Voldemort said dismissively, waving a hand as if to dissipate the tension lingering in the air between them. "We need to formulate a new plan quickly. The Ministry must be taken down, and quickly, their resistance will only delay my plans further. My patience is wearing thin, Severus."

The Potions Master gazed deep into the emerald flames as if it would suddenly present him with an idea. He noticed that his robes had dried and become very stiff with caked mud.

"I suspect that Potter is residing at the home of the Weasleys'. Dumbledore often mentioned the boy spending his school holidays there. This information might be of some use but will prove useless if the wards are still up."

"We should map out several different possibilities and form a plan for each one so we are prepared. We have no source and nothing to go on." Said Voldemort. "Is there anything else you think might be of some use?"

"Perhaps one, my Lord. If I recall clearly, the eldest Weasley offspring is to wed this summer. If we take them by surprise at the wedding, surely chances will be in our favour. However, for us to succeed, the Ministry will have to fall on the same day so the wards can be broken before they are alarmed and forced to cancel the occasion."

"Understood."

They lapsed into silence once more, each mulling over every possible plan. Severus mentally ran through the list of possible staff, guests and the like, making connections along the way according to relations with the Ministry, blood ties and friendships. He narrowed the list down to the most likely candidates and was going through each one of them again before crossing off Kingsley Shacklebot. After all, Dumbledore had advised him that Shacklebot was vital to the future of the British Wizarding community after the war ended.

The rest of the candidates would prove useful, Severus noted, but he needed the perfect pawn to set everything in motion. A pawn with relations to the Ministry but innocent enough to avoid suspicion.

"I believe I have discovered our best course of action, my Lord. Have Pius Thicknesse place the heads of the Marriage and Funeral officiates under the Imperious curse. The bride and groom will require someone to preside the ceremony and the family may either hire a Ministry officiate or have one of their own ordained through the department."

Lord Voldemort turned in his seat to face one of his most loyal followers with piqued curiosity.

"We will leave for Headquarters immediately." Voldemort announced as he rose from his chair with grace and Snape repeated the action, waving his wand across the hem of his robes to reverse the damage from the trek through the forest. "Nagini."

Nagini slithered into the chamber with a long hiss as if to dramatize the moment and she travelled up the Dark Lord's figure to drape her slippery body over his shoulders.

**Some feedback would be special to me right now. I have yet to start on the next chapter and I'm feeling less and less motivated each time I upload a new chapter, especially when we've only just started to approach the war and it's going to be quite boring for the next couple of chapters. The real stuff happens during and after the Battle at Hogwarts.**

**Any ideas would be great too. It helps me work through a bunch of plot bunnies and make it more interesting. A lot of my (really old) stories had several plot holes and no substance and I am determined to see this one come out as full of character and life. And complete.**


	7. Platform Nine and Three-Quarters

**I'm so sorry for the delay in a new chapter. It's been so hectic for at least a month. To cut it short, I was sick for a week at the start and forced myself to do some rental property searching, and got approved for an apartment. Spent the next two weeks job searching and packing up my crap, then the other two moving in and unpacking, while despairing at the lack of internet and funds for new furniture.**

To say that Draco was nervous was an understatement. He was downright freaking out, his stomach a jumbled mess of butterflies gnawing at his insides. He could have sworn that he was coming down with something because he felt nauseous and his abdominal muscles seized up in mild cramps. He had just dry retched into the toilet situated in his personal bathroom for the second time that afternoon, not even daring to drink a glass of cool water lest it went back up. He wasn't able to gather the energy or strength in himself to sit down for breakfast or lunch either. He had no appetite.

Draco scanned his bedroom for things that he had missed in his slow and drawn out process of packing. Had anyone asked him why on earth he needed to spend more the whole day packing his trunk when they had elves to do the job for him, he would argue that he was organised to the point of obsession and liked to know exactly what went into his luggage for the new school year. Truth be told, he never bothered with the act in previous years, leaving the tedious task for one of the Manor's servants. However, this year he wanted to delay the inevitable;

He was to return to Hogwarts for his Seventh Year tomorrow and for the first time ever in his life, he didn't want to go. The only solace in attending this year was that his godfather Severus had been appointed as the new Headmaster of Hogwarts. But that didn't change the fact that things would be extremely different this year, especially with Death eaters paroling the grounds every minute of every day, and just as many taking to the classroom.

And his beloved insufferable know-it-all bookworm would not be there to upstage him in every single class.

Draco sank down onto his queen bed with a heavy sigh, resting his head in his palms for the umpteenth time that day.

On the day the Ministry fell under their control, half the Death Eaters had gone straight to the Burrow as soon as the Minister was announced dead. He had been fortunate enough to tag along though he wasn't allowed to partake in on the mission, the others wary of his presence and faith to the cause. Luckily Draco had managed to sneak his way into the group dedicated for the wedding. For once in his life, he was glad they were too busy to notice him in the foray.

When the signal had been given to them in the foyer of the Ministry, they wasted no time in departing, spinning on the spot with a clear destination in mind. They donned the usual Death Eater attire though not all had bothered with the masks. A handful, like Draco, wore them without question though Draco did it more to conceal his identity than to comply with the uniform guidelines.

All the Death Eaters Apparated in the grounds outside the wards and they were still up and strong, despite some of them having been torn down when the main ministry officials were killed. Four apparently skilled Death Eaters were at the forefront of the groups, casting spell after spell, and one by one the rest of the wards began to fall. It was a few more minutes before the last piece of protection fell and the dark-clothed men and women surrounding him disappeared.

Draco hurriedly span on the spot in a panic upon realising he had been somewhat slow on the uptake and found himself in the middle of a small war inside a large tent. A sharp pain radiated from a spot in his side and he found that he had splinched a shallow chunk from below his ribs.

Clutching his left hand at the wound to stem the blood flow, he pushed his way through the frantic crowd of guests, his silvery eyes searching through them. He wordlessly waved his wand at some of the unsuspecting Death Eaters with tripping spells, and before long he found her over the other side of the dance floor. She too was pushing her way through the throng, dodging spells and dragging Ronald Weasley behind her as she searched too.

Draco stilled both due to the steady loss of blood and his surprise at finally finding her here. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest at the sight of her but his appreciation of her was short-lived when he saw another Death Eater aiming his wand at the Muggleborn's back and Ron was wise enough to look over his shoulder.

"Hermione!" Ron bellowed and she pushed him to the side, dropping to the ground herself in self-preservation.

His heart began racing even faster and he wasted no time in shooting a stunning spell at the offending Death Eater. The man was blasted off his feet and he raced over to where they were, the blood loss making his steps slow and tortuous.

Hermione and Ron resurfaced from their hiding spot behind an upturned table and their hands were linked as she located the one she was looking for. She latched onto Harry Potter and Draco knew they were about to make a run for it and he stopped in his pursuit in order to ward off other attacks.

When they vanished on the spot, Draco tore his sights away from the empty space. More than half the wedding guests had disappeared in the midst of the chaos while some unfortunate ones were scattered on the ground either dead or injured, he wasn't sure. He also recognised some of the other Death Eaters lying unconscious here and there. The rest of the guests were either still fighting or cowering in corners waiting to be saved.

An orange glow permeated the thin white fabric of the tent and Draco instantly knew something had been set on fire, most likely the home of one of the poorest Wizarding families in Britain. He had to leave now before any of the unconscious Death Eaters came to in time to see him so he spun on his heels and felt the familiar sensation of Disapparation overwhelm him. His life would be in extreme danger if he did not watch himself.

And he had to do something about the wound in his side and Merlin forbid he splinch himself again on the way back. He would not be able to live with the embarrassment. Or the pain.

Exactly a month later, no one had discovered that he had been the one to assist in the escape of the Golden Trio from the wedding and Lord Voldemort had rarely shown his face since the event. Many of the occupants at the Manor believed he was in hiding again, biding his time while the rest of the Death Eaters were split up on a few missions; controlling the Ministry of Magic, keeping watch on the House of Black in Grimmauld Place (even if they couldn't see it) and continuously wrecking havoc in the outside world killing Muggles, kidnapping and imprisoning Muggleborns and the like. Draco, however, kept his head down and stayed back at the Manor much to everyone's relief.

He contemplated emptying the entire contents of his trunk onto the floor and redoing the packing from scratch. He dismissed the idea, as doing it for the fourth time would be far too pedantic.

He slammed the lid shut and locked it, instead opting to search for the matriarch of the Malfoy family in order to ask her a favour. As August drew to an end, there had been one pressing matter that occupied Draco's thoughts most of the day and he finally resigned to requesting for his mother's assistance.

It took a rather long time for Draco to locate Narcissa Malfoy for she had taken to leisurely strolls in the massive gardens to occupy her time, picking fresh leaves and buds for whatever batch of potions she needed that week.

It was in the gardens that he found his mother sitting at a small wrought iron table, her freshly picked ingredients laid out in a series of piles. She still had a small handful with which she carefully inspected, one by one.

He sat down opposite her at that little table, feeling much too big for the tiny outdoor setting.

"Mother," he greeted her tenderly, gazing at the way she now had permanent wrinkles across her forehead and under her eyes. He could feel her pain.  
"My dear Draco." Narcissa sat back in her seat, observing her son and understood that a serious matter was bothering him. She clapped her hands softly and a small crack rang out. Narcissa's personal elf appeared by her side.

"Yes, Mistress?" Minnie asked, wringing her little hands.

"Bring us some tea and biscuits, Minnie." Narcissa stated and the elf looked to Draco for confirmation, which she received wordlessly. Nodding her head, she vanished with another crack.

Draco remained silent for a few minutes as he watched his mother turn a sprig over in her hands, plucking out each imperfect leaf and tossing it to the side. The remaining sprigs were then replaced into the organised sets of ingredients.

Draco began identifying the ingredients in order to decipher the identity of the potion his mother planned on making. She had a habit of choosing the ones necessary for each particular potion. He realised that his mother had been wearing gloves outdoors despite it being rather warm. Upon closer look he recognised them as dragon hide and the pieces finally fell into place.

"Wolfsbane, Mother?" Draco drawled, raising an eyebrow. She shot him a look that put him in his place.

"Greyback." Narcissa said and he had to stifle his snort. She narrowed her eyes at her son.

At that moment the elf had returned with a tray of tea cups, a pot of tea and a platter of freshly baked biscuits. The mother and son became silent as they waited for the elf to dish out the beverages, measuring out the sugar and cream according to their preferences. With a polite bow the elf left with an empty tray.

Narcissa carefully peeled off her gloves and placed them to the side.

"He asked for Wolfsbane?" Draco asked incredulously and his mother grasped her teacup tightly. "Have you ever made it successfully before?"

"Well... No." She looked down guiltily. "I was contemplating slipping it in his meals."

"What...? Mother?"

"He scares me, Draco." She explained. "I figured that if I fed it to him even outside the week leading up to the full moon of each month, he would be less animalistic."

"But have you ever made it before, let alone successfully?" Draco repeated and her gaze flickered up to his with fierce determination which frightened him slightly.

"No." She said without missing a beat and then she muttered under her breath, "However, it wouldn't do us any harm if he happened to be poisoned."

"No harm, Mother?" Draco queried, setting down his half bitten biscuit. "You can't mean to!..." His voice lowered to an almost whisper as to not draw attention. "Greyback is one of the Dark Lord's most efficient Death Eaters. Your life would not be spared."

He set the plant material on fire with his wand. "You'd best put this mad idea of yours to bed, Mother. It would not do to dwell on something so dangerous."

The fair woman pursed her lips at her son in thinly veiled disappointment.

"That's enough." He pressed, and with a flourish of the polished wood in his hand, he swept away the ashes left behind. His mother stared at him some more, her lips pursed before she remembered that he had interrupted her work. Her expression changed to that of interest.

"So, dear son." She took a sip of her tea, changing the subject. "It seems to me something is on your mind."

"Yes, mother. It's been troubling me for a few weeks now. I need your help."

"What is it?"

"Ollivander."

Narcissa set down her cup and clasped her hands in her lap, deducing. "What of him?"

"I need you to watch over him while I'm gone." No point in drawing this out. His mother grew quiet for a long moment and he could feel the tension simmer. Was this too Gryffindor of him?

"This is..." She began slowly, searching for the right words. "…an unusual request, Draco."

"I know mother but-"

"But why? You never cared about anyone." His mother wondered. "It's not the-"

"Malfoy Motif. I know. But you and I know that we hardly fit in the Malfoy mould." Narcissa gave a tiny meek nod in agreement. "You and I care about certain people. And most of all, we keep our promises. We don't make them carelessly."

"So you promised...?"

"I promised Ollivander that he would make it out of this war alive. I intend on keeping it."

"Oh." She looked down at her hands. "What do you want me to do?"

"I bring him food every day, talk with him for a bit and heal his wounds."

"You healed his wounds? But I didn't see anything ever being healed."

"I covered it up with some charms."

"Well, that's... Clever." She marvelled. Draco allowed himself a small smirk.

They fell into a comfortable silence and finished their teas. And Draco knew that his mother had agreed to keep watch over the sole prisoner inside the Manor, even if she hadn't spoken the words. A slight amount of the burden on his shoulders lifted and he felt a little less tense.

The next morning found Draco standing in the middle of Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, disheartened at the sight of a significantly smaller student body than the previous years. Those that were present seemed to be feeling the same as he was, their paces slow but cautious. He could see a handful glance over their shoulders ominously as if afraid one of the Death Eaters situated along the platforms would suddenly attack them without warning.

He lugged his trunk behind him, the owl cage gripped tightly in his free hand and for a moment he wished he had left his owl back at the Manor for the next school year. Owl Post would most likely be very scarce and what mail was sent would certainly be intercepted and screened. On the other hand, his owl would be safer at Hogwarts.

Still, it would be bloody useful to have his wand arm free in case chaos broke out right then and there.

On the way to the train he located many of the other Slytherins easily, identified by the haughty expressions on their faces and their stuff postures.

He caught a glimpse of red and found the Weasely girl huddled close to her friends, the group keeping their heads close and their voices low. Draco knew it was stupid but he couldn't help but look for a familiar mane of bushy hair even though that was an impossible occurrence. He registered that the Weaslette was conversing with Luna Lovegood and Neville Longbottom amongst many others.

The Lovegood girl pried her head away from the group in favour of scanning the platform and her eyes rested upon his. Momentarily caught like a deer in front of a car, he widened his eyes when the girl gave him an apologetic smile as if knowing his pain then she returned her focus to her friends.

He tore his gaze away, his brow pressed into a frown.

Depressed by the atmosphere in the platform he hurried onto the train. The sooner he was able to grab an empty compartment and close his eyes, the better. If he could just escape his surroundings even for a few minutes, he knew he could calm down. He faintly noticed that his heart was pounding against his chest.

It didn't take him long to locate a compartment for himself and he gratefully sank into a seat after putting his things away. He set his owl on the seat across from his and leaned his head back on the cushion.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and double-checked his mental defences just in case. And then he let his mind wander to an imaginary reality where his seventh year wasn't cast with a gloomy cloud. In this reality there was no Voldemort, no war and the skin on his arm (much like his soul) was not permanently stained by the Dark Mark and all it represented.

In this reality, the memorable Platform Nine and Three-Quarters was packed to the brim with students both old and new, smiles on their faces as they traded stories of their holidays and he would stand against the brick wall with the other Slytherins.

He imagined that he could see the all-too-familiar mass of caramel curls bobbing along in the midst of everyone else, her petite stature obscured by the bigger bodies surrounding her, but he could easily recognize her from this distance. That bird's nest was unmistakable, especially for someone such as he, when he had spent half of his lessons in school staring at it, partially because he longed to sleep on it like a pillow (it's so fluffy!) and also because they obstructed his view of the chalkboard in front of the classroom that Draco half cursed the girl for happening to sit directly in front of him in every single class before reminding himself that he chose his seat to be right behind her.

As creepy as that sounded, he loved watching her learn, soaking up new things like a sponge. He liked to joke to himself that every day her hair grew bushier as she absorbed more and more information.

Draco willed the crowd to part so that he could have a better view of the object of his affections and part they did, revealing a slightly tanned Hermione Granger in her Muggle attire. Unlike many of his fellow students, he wasn't much for casual clothing but he quite liked how she donned a pair of blue jeans, black sneakers and a white shirt with a thin grey cardigan over the top. Simple but refreshing, he decided.

He pushed himself off the wall and strode defiantly towards her, preparing to scoop her up into a searing kiss that she would never forget. Her knees would go weak and she would fall heads over heels in love with him and they would live happily ever after, pureblood supremacy be damned.

He reached her in a few quick strides and looped a muscular arm around her waist, his gazing pinning hers in a staring match. He leaned in, but it seemed like it was taking far too long for the kiss to happen and he found he couldn't lean any farther.

It was no use. He couldn't even imagine kissing the love of his life. He had no idea what it would feel like to kiss her, but it didn't stop him from longing for it every single day, to wake up every morning knowing that she was there beside him with the same love he had for her.

He opened his eyes just as the train started moving and he finally noticed that he was no longer alone in the compartment, for the others had caught up to him and settled into a rather subdued conversation about something or other.

He sighed and proceeded to spend the majority of the ride wallowing in self-pity.

**I've been trying to write the next chapter and I'm afraid I've hit a writer's block. Chances are that it would be rather choppy or it would need to take a different approach.**


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